Ryou Bakura's Best Friend
by YamiKatie
Summary: Ryou is ecstatic when his dad gives him a gift: a certain Sennen Ring. His europhia isn't dampened when he finds an ancient spirit lives inside, not even when he turns out to be 'slightly' violent. Because Ryou knows his new friend will never hurt him...
1. Default Chapter

A/N: This fic is centred around a Ryou with a Yugi-personality transplant (metaphorically speaking.) In other words Ryou is exceedingly naïve and immature. I appreciate many Ryou-fans will object, and I admit my hand shook when writing some of these lines, but I thought it would make an original and hopefully interesting story. Don't like it? Don't read it then. But I would be grateful if you reviewed, even if you just came along and glanced at the first few lines, thought, 'nah, that's crap,' and gone onto something else. At least I know you considered reading it.

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend – Chapter One

A tinny ding-dong resonated though the house, making Ryou throw aside the book he was reading and run excitedly for the door.

"Daddy!"

Professor Bakura, his arms loaded with dilapidated suitcases and bursting bags, was instantly enveloped in an enthusiastic bear hug. He returned it was best as he could, as his son capered eagerly around him like a monkey.

"Easy, Ryou-chan. Just let me put these down, will you?"

The boy immediately picked up the nearest bag and attempted unsuccessfully to manoeuvre it out of the way.

"Where should I put it?" He had wisely chosen the heaviest bag present, full of iron shovels and rusty spades, and ended up dragging it along the floor. A large rip was already spreading down the side, like an inkblot in a tablecloth. His father sighed.

Between them they managed to cart the luggage upstairs, with Ryou (who had now been assigned the bag with the lightest and least valuable contents) panting even more than his father.

When the professor had had a chance to sit down he pulled out a hastily wrapped box and announced that he had brought his son a present. Ryou was, to put it mildly, ecstatic.

"A present! Oh, thank you so much!" More hugs followed. The box was then unwrapped as carefully as if the wrapping paper alone were worth billions of yen. He lifted up the lid to reveal a large gold pendant, cushioned comfortably in silk.

"What do you think?"

"Its…_beautiful," _Ryou whispered.

In time, the Millennium Ring would come to be described as many things, but this would be the only time the word 'beautiful' was used. Not that it was an entirely inappropriate word. Its surface was smooth and unpitted, and the gold pyramid with the eye of Ra engraved upon it and framed by the endless golden circle could certainly be thought of as aesthetically pleasing, if you had that sort of mind. The tines hanging at precisely equal intervals around the edge softened its appearance, giving it a somewhat more delicate feel. All the same, from the beginning the Ring held for the more sensitive viewer a sweetly deadly fascination, like a sleeping tiger. There was that same feeling of withheld strength, of power coiled up and ready to strike. Once it had found a suitable victim, of course.

None of these sensations communicated themselves to Ryou or his father strongly enough to be taken notice of. They (the people, that is) weren't of the overtly sensitive type.

Noticing how his son's wonder morphed gradually into confusion, Professor Bakura hastened to explain the purpose of this gift. Sliding fingers that were callused and sunburnt by work in Egypt underneath the silk, he drew out a piece of cord, mossy in colour.

"This goes through the loop at the top. You wear it as a necklace."

Ryou's bafflement gave way to understanding, albeit limited. _"Oh._ I get it!"

"I found it in one of the markets in Egypt. It felt like you should have it."

"Thank you." Ryou hugged him tightly. Then he picked up the necklace and its cord in one hand, and his book in the other, saying, "I'm going to try it on upstairs. Then maybe read for a bit more, okay?"

"Sure, son. Do whatever you want." The professor's initial concern at his son's reaction had long since died down. He was leaving again tomorrow anyway and wouldn't see Ryou for weeks, maybe even months. His visits were infrequent at the best of times, and it was perhaps the faint guilt at this that had compelled him to buy his son some sort of gift. Presents instead of presence, as some would say. A bribe, almost, or perhaps just something to distract Ryou from the fact that his father was never there. Even more he felt detached from his son, and the old guilt pangs were reminding him how they were practically strangers, how Ryou's friends at school probably knew him better than his own father.

Professor Bakura managed to console himself somewhat with the thought that his son was such a happy, likeable child that he probably had plenty of friends to take his mind off his father's absence. He'd never actually _met _any of these 'friends,' but was sure, stubbornly, immovably sure, that they existed.

Self-denial, as you will continue to see, seemed to be a hereditary trait in the Bakura family.

…………

Ryou skipped gaily up the stairs like a Maypole dancer, clutching his new necklace as though it would run away. In coming years he would wish, as he cried himself to sleep at night while holding the cold, emotionless metal as far from his skin as he could, that the Ring would leave and never come back. But for now the part of his mind focused on the Millennium Ring was simply concentrating on not dropping it.

Plopping onto his bed and feeling the ancient springs creak and groan and sink a bit deeper, he tossed his book to one side and turned his full attention to the Item. It was dropped carefully onto the duvet, and he looked at it happily. The cord lay there like a coiled snake, surveying him. He picked it up and attempted to thread it through the loop, but it was like trying to thread a needle – somehow his fingers kept mis-aligning it. On the third attempt he succeeded, and held the two pieces of cord at arms length, feeling absurdly pleased by his success. As he sat there admiring it, for a moment it seemed to flash. But that was ridiculous – it must have just caught the light. But it was mid-afternoon, and all the lights in the room were switched off…

He shrugged and, as a young child blocks out that which is unwelcome or unnerving to think, he pushed the unease to the back of his mind. Fingers moving surprisingly deftly, he tied the two ends of the cord in a neat knot and tried it on for size.

Hmmm. Not bad. It hung surprisingly low, feeling as if it covered every inch of his young chest, and when he took it off to make the cord slightly shorter he found he couldn't untie the knot. It was a basic one that he knew well how to undo, but it seemed to want to stay that length, stubbornly resisting and defying his attempts to unpick it. So in the end he gave up.

It seemed natural to put it on again, and he found that wearing it gave him a sort of satisfaction, the feeling seeming to come from nowhere and for no reason, other than that it was right to wear it. He sat cross-legged on the bed, hunched over his book, and as he leaned forward the necklace also swung forward on its cord, giving the appearance of one leaning in, coming close so they could see better. As he settled there, a young boy engrossed in his story and oblivious to the world, the Millennium Ring flashed again. After a moment the flash steadied and then dulled to a less-noticeable glow. After this happened, Yami Bakura woke up.

………….

Of course, he didn't know his name, or rather his nickname was Yami Bakura. At this precise moment in time he didn't know anything. But as his mind started, groggily, to clear of the fog surrounding his consciousness, he sat up and began to take an interest in his surroundings.

He was in a completely dark room, the darkness so intense it seemed to swallow him up. There didn't seem to be anything of note around him – just total, unpenetrable blackness. He rose, shakily, feeling slightly nauseous. Then came the traditional waker's question:

__

Where am I?

The thought seemed to echo hollowly around him, bouncing against non-existent walls.

__

I think I am lost.

****

Looooost… The words swirled crazily around his head as if mocking him.

__

Who am I?

That question at least, he knew the answer to. The phrase _King Thief Bakura _leapt into his mind with startling clarity, overtaking everything else in its wake. Pity everything else was still a blur, though.

A thief. Yes, he was a thief. The best thief of them all.

Perhaps he was lost in a tomb? Oh yes, that would make sense – he'd probably been in the middle of robbing one of those lovely pyramids, redolent and brimming with treasure, then taken a wrong turn somewhere and got lost. He might even have walked into a wall. That would at least account for why he had been lying down, and for the nausea.

But although this answer was logical, it still failed to satisfy him. What sort of tomb had no lights, no walls and, most importantly, no doors? It didn't _feel _like a proper tomb either. He should know, having robbed so many; this place lacked the distinctive feel and smell of a pyramid.

This darkness too was disconcerting. It didn't seem the sort you could simply wave a hand through, to reassure yourself you still had substance. It felt so _thick, _so _heavy,_ like having water pressing in on him from all sides. He was feeling confined, trapped, almost claustrophobic. But he was a tomb robber, What sort of tomb robber could feel claustrophobic?

This darkness…it felt as if it were moving with him. But then that meant he couldn't be free of it, couldn't escape it. And he _so_ wanted to.

………….

Later, Ryou put down his book and went to get some Calpol – he had a really bad headache. His mind felt so _busy,_ so full of thoughts, most of which didn't even seem to make sense. It was as if he had a little worm in his head, and it was wriggling about in all the nooks and crannies. And this worm was armed with a giant hammer, and it was _pounding _away at his temples like it wanted them to burst…

………….

When Yami Bakura next opened his eyes, it was with the feeling that more time had passed. Had he blacked out? That would have been humiliating beyond imagination. And yet…

The word _black _felt appropriate, at least. He felt very, very black. As black as the darkness surrounding him. As black as if someone had come along with a paintbrush and painted his soul. But his perception had changed – this darkness no longer felt like a hindrance. Almost like an extension of his consciousness. To test this theory he reached out, extending a tendril of _black,_ and saw the darkness ripple, shivering before him. _I can control it._ And with this thought his mind reared up, slamming into this nameless obstacle. The darkness cleared, and he could now see his surroundings. The power he commanded filled him with adrenaline, as if he could do anything and everything at all, and no one could stop him.

A little thought squirmed in his mind. _I can only control this darkness because it is a part of me. I **am**_ _the darkness._

This thought pleased him, and he mentally embraced the new power this sentence brought, even as another part of him shuddered at himself.

It seemed like an awful lot of work for very little, though. He was in a small room, perhaps ten strides across. There was a bed in the far corner, and a door in front of him. The walls were black, the same eternal shade of darkness that had previously been clouding his mind, and yet the whole room was filled with a faint light that seemed to come from somewhere else.

But the occupant didn't notice this. As soon as his mind had registered the presence of _a door,_ he was up and running towards it, freedom apparently hovering just in front of him. At the last moment, however, his survival instincts took over and he slowed to a soft walk, eyes roving over the door as he wondered how to open it. There was a doorknob exactly at his hip level, and he touched it cautiously.

When nothing happened he tried pushing it. Surprisingly enough, this achieved absolutely nought. The closed door seemed to grin mockingly at him and he scowled at it, before falling into a desperate frenzy, fingers tugging and pulling blindly. He even tried shouting at it.

Suddenly it gave way, and he fell to the ground in an undignified heap, limbs tangled up in each other. He lay there for a few minutes, surprise ebbing into a sort of weary resignation.

Once he had got to his feet, the first thing he did was to go back to the door, now swinging silently to and fro on its hinges, and examine the doorknob. It seemed exactly the same as before, so he reluctantly pushed the door shut and tried again from the other side.

This time it took him only a couple of seconds to work out the secret, and he watched in fascination as the knob swivelled in his palm. But now that the mystery was revealed he lost interest, and wandered into this new environment.

All at once he was besieged by a volley of thoughts that weren't his, overwhelming him as they clattered incessantly around his head.

__

Ow my head hurts stupid Calpol don't work huh this book's really bad I bet I know what happens oh God can't be bothered to finish my head still hurts I think Daddy should sue the Calpol company this necklace is cold but its also kinda pretty so I don't mind think I'll take it off-

Letting out a startled yelp, Yami Bakura clutched his head, which felt on the verge of explosion, and ran back into his soul room, slamming the door behind him.

…………

Once the door was shut the noises abruptly ceased, and he gave a faint moan of relief. There was an insistent booming in his ears, as if someone had stood next to him with a massive bell and _whacked_ it as hard as possible.

As the booming drained gradually away to be replaced with a dull ache, curiosity took over. What in the name of Ra had just happened?

After his mind tried and failed to come up with any vaguely plausible explanations, his curiosity got the better of him.

One hand hovering over the handle, his whole self tensed and ready to bolt should the need arise, he took a deep breath of nothingness and stepped outside.

At once he was assailed by the mental storm again. But this time it was softer, as if someone had turned the volume down. He could even begin to make out words, and although he understood them perfectly, they were in no language he knew.

__

Strange.

…………

A/N: And that is it for the first chapter. Review, please. I'm planning to continue this soon, and ideas are welcome, although I've got a rough idea of how the story is going to go.


	2. The Voice inside the Necklace

A/N: To be honest, I was actually dreading continuing this story, as I wasn't all that keen on it. But, astonishingly, it turned out to be really fun to write. Next chapter will be up in a few weeks, and don't forget to review!

Oh, and several people wanted to know how old Ryou is in this story. My answer is that mentally he is about eight, and physically…I think fourteen. That seems good.

Warnings: bad language, violence

Koe: voice

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend Chapter Two: The Voice in the Necklace.

Ryou Bakura was beginning to wonder if he'd finally reached puberty.

He'd heard, from odd bits of information gleaned from books, that reaching puberty meant growing taller, your voice breaking and developing a peculiar interest in girls; all things he'd classed vaguely in his mind under 'growing up,' and the prospect seemed as distant and unimaginable as winning the lottery. Neither of these unlikely-sounding happenings had approached him yet, for which he was exceedingly glad. But growing up also apparently included mood swings, of which he'd definitely been experiencing in abundance in the last ten or so minutes.

These sudden changes in temperament and outlook had varied between a bewildering confusion, unexplainable frustration, and fear. His headache was also steadily increasing – a persistent pounding in his temples of which the Calpol had completely failed to control. This worried Ryou a little. No one had said anything in those books about mysterious headaches.

He found some relief in his new necklace. For some reason, just looking at it gave him a vague but undeniable sense of pleasure and satisfaction, and he had decided he rather liked it. Sure, it was strange to look at, but that made it more interesting. He was certain that nobody else had a necklace like this one.

And he was right. No one _did_ have a necklace quite like his.

They were the lucky ones.

…………

The spirit residing in the Millennium Ring was now Officially Bored. He was also on the Brink of Insanity but that, like the former assessment, was just an opinion.

He'd reached the limits of his wanderings already; not a hard thing to do as his environment now consisted of the dark room where he had first woken up and the room full of blinding light where he had first heard the Voices.

They weren't even all that interesting, for Ra's sake. Just kept going on about books and a necklace and Calpol, whatever the hell that was. Perhaps some foreign word his mind was unable to translate? Although it seemed to have coped well with everything else. He knew these disembodied voices were speaking a language he didn't know, and yet his mind understood them perfectly. He had ceased to question this, however. Like the darkness and the handle on the door, it was simply one of dozens of new mysteries to be in its turn pondered, dissected, frowned over and finally accepted.

His anger and frustration were beginning to bubble out of control, like a saucepan left on the hob for too long. And like that saucepan, which eventually lets vomits its contents and lets them stream and dribble down the outside, released, he let out his emotions in a single word:

**__**

FUCK!

This was followed by a long string of only partly intelligible Ancient Egyptian oaths, in which all listeners would find themselves damned to the Underworld for ever, and their ka torn apart by Ra's most faithful. He would desecrate their tombs beyond recognition, stripping the contents and selling them for gold. Lots of gold…

Having let out his anger, and producing a fantasy that was far more pleasurable to imagine, he took a moment to inhale several huge breaths of air. Moments later he was struck by the realisation that until now he hadn't been breathing at all. What was more, he hadn't felt like he needed to.

Before he could reflect further on this new strangeness, a silent cry erupted from somewhere and he became aware that someone was in pain. It was like watching someone drown, and all the while tiny waves lap at your feet, tugging you forward so you can feel something of the ocean's fatal embrace. Echoes of the pain, like a shivering in the air after a giant bell rings. He suddenly knew that it was his shout that had caused this reaction, like the way you clasp your ears when someone stands next you and screams in your face.

Uneasily he looked around, but could see no one.

__

What is it where are they how can I hear this am I going crazy O Gods maybe I am

((Where are you?)) The words didn't come out like normal speech; there was a floaty, echo-like quality to them.

He heard, no, _felt_ someone give an exclamation. Then, almost predictably: _There's a voice in my head oh my God oh my God how did it get there?_

I only wish I knew, Yami Bakura thought to himself. Then, desperately, he was straining towards this silent voice, the only thing which had acknowledged his presence so far or perhaps only become aware of it –

The world exploded into view, images blinding him in their brightness, so that he almost fell back in shock. He was seeing the world, through the eyes of another. But the world had changed a lot since he'd last lived in it.

Ryou's room was nothing special – a bed with a cheerful Lion King duvet, shelf loaded with books and groaning under their obvious weight, a small wardrobe hiding modestly in the corner. But the _colours, _the _brightness…_for someone who had lived their life under the burning gaze of the Egyptian sun, and yet never been exposed to the precise whiteness of electric lights, Ryou's room was the most amazing thing created.

__

What is this place?

(That would be my room,) Ryou replied uncertainly, voice tentative and slightly apprehensive. (I-_wait!_ What are you?)

((What are _you?))_ the other voice responded, somewhat unhelpfully.

(I don't understand. What do you mean?)

((What I _mean_ is 'how in the name of Ra did I get in this place?')) the voice said snappily. ((I am asking you a question, and therefore you will answer me.))

(Th-there's no need to be so rude,) Ryou replied, slightly cowed. (I-I've got no idea how you ended up in my head.)

((What the-how the hell did this turn into _me_ ending up in _your_ head? I think it happens to be the other way round.)) Yami Bakura was annoyed and, when annoyed, tended to lose his temper. ((Fine, whatever. Lets start with the obvious. What is your name?))

Silence.

****

((Answer me, Ra dammit!))

Nervously: (My daddy says I should never talk to strangers.)

__

Your 'daddy' is a prick, just like you. ((I'm not a stranger. Well, I am, but I appear to be stuck in your head so you have an obligation to answer me.))

(I-I do? And what did you call my daddy?)

In the place which he would soon call his soul room, Yami Bakura stared. _Of all the things in the world, I have to end up in the company of some little brat whose idea of being rude is probably telling someone they're mean. Why? **Why?**_

((It doesn't matter. What is your name?))

(Bakura Ryou. What's yours?)

A snide laugh. And, behind that, thoughtfulness. _We have the same name._

((What?))

(What's your name?)

He thought for a moment.

__

I am the darkness…

Bakura Ryou.

Of all the things in the world, I have to end up in the company of some little brat whose idea of being rude is probably telling someone they're mean.

((I don't have one. I'm just a figment of your imagination.))

Pause.

(…Okay.)

…………..

It was easier after that. He found that The Boy would talk to him more comfortably and therefore give more information if he thought as him as a figment of his imagination, so Yami Bakura played this for all it was worth. After a lot of pressing, he learnt a lot about The Boy (far too much, actually, for Ryou was so enthralled at the thought of having someone to talk to who didn't really exist – like an imaginary friend – that he 'spilled' practically everything he knew. Which was a surprisingly large amount.) and The Boy learnt very little about the spirit himself. Which was exactly how Yami Bakura wanted it.

It was Ryou who first began to refer to him as a 'spirit' (along with plenty of other more annoying names, most of them involving the dreaded 'f' word – and it wasn't even _that_ 'f' word, the spirit thought in disappointment) and when he was asked why said simply,

(Because you're a voice in my head. Like in Harry Potter or something.) Ryou was used to using information and phrases from books to explain himself – he read a lot of books. They weren't an adequate substitution for friends, but it was all he had.

The spirit of the Millennium Ring, who had no idea who Harry Potter was and didn't care either, pondered on this. It was all very well if your soul was made up of darkness, which he was sure gave him some sort of power, but power wasn't any good if there weren't people around who could appreciate or be cowed by it. And if people were going to fear him (which would be a good thing), he needed a name. Something appropriate. Like…

This language he was speaking – its name for dark was 'yami.' The spirit still thought in Arabic, but when he spoke the words came out in a different language. He'd already found out from The Boy that they were in a country called Japan, and they were speaking Japanese. And if you wanted to make words possessive in Japanese, or put in an 'of,' you added a 'no' in between the word and the one it 'belonged to.' And so he styled himself Yami no Bakura. It was as simple as that.

(Koe, haven't you heard of Harry Potter? It's a book. Quite a good one.)

Yami Bakura blinked. Something in him stirred uneasily. 'Books' weren't common in Egypt – there was only a certain amount of papyrus to go round, and most of it was used for recording events, not wasted on children's stories.

((This country…is it very advanced? I mean, compared to other ones?))

(Um yes, I think so. But every country has books, if that's what you mean.)

Something seemed to explode in his head. Dimly, his voice seeming to come from far away, the spirit whispered, ((What year is it?))

(2004 AD. Why?)

………

Yami Bakura hardly spoke to 'The Boy' for the next few days, almost paralysed by shock. During the few minutes that he'd been knocked out, the world seemed to have zoomed forward three thousand years. Also, he'd ended up in someone else's head. Not really the sort of things that happen to you every day.  
He watched the days go by without caring, viewing the passing of time in a sort of semi-aware trance. Everything he saw was through his host's eyes, like watching the world on an endless television screen. But what did it matter anymore? What did anything matter?

Ryou nattered away to him almost constantly, never seeming to be put off by the fact that the spirit rarely, if ever, replied. He couldn't really be blamed for this – even if he could have got a word in edgeways, Ryou's topics of conversation weren't usually the most fascinating in the world. During those days in which he spent the entire time lying on his back and staring at the non-existent ceiling in his soul room in a state of lethargy so complete he could barely summon the energy or enthusiasm to get up, Yami Bakura learnt more about The Boy's interests and opinions than probably anyone else in the world. Not that he ever made the effort to listen; the words had an infuriating way of leaking into his brain in neon capitals, lingering in his consciousness long after he'd groaned and turned over.

He first found out that he could control The Boy's body the second night, when Ryou had been chatting to a shopkeeper about something or other, and then suddenly mentioned his 'new friend.' His intentions appearing as clearly to the spirit as if they'd been written down in ink, (blue ink, drawn from long cartridges and used with that nice Parker pen from WHSmith that Ryou had bought a little while ago and was very fond of) Yami Bakura realised in sudden horror that The Boy intended to inform others of his existence. The despairing fact that Ryou was willing to pour out his secrets to a random person in town made him want to massage his temples, but it was more than that. He didn't want anyone knowing about him; they were familiar with this country, this language, this world, while he barely had any idea of who he was or how he had got into this Ra-dammed situation in the first place, and this meant he was vulnerable. He didn't like that word. Especially when it was applied to him.

But that was a digression of the mental kind, his thoughts straying to the questions that so frequently haunted him; and what he'd done had been very simple. As soon as it became clear what Ryou intended to do, he reached out, flailing wildly with his mind, and found that he was _flexing_ it in the same way that had happened when he'd driven the blackness from his soul room. And before he could even register this thought, he was _in_ The Boy, no, more than that: he _was_ The Boy, taking his place, his body. Taking control. He could interact with this place for the first time, could feel thousands of trivial physical sensations that he hadn't even realised he'd missed. The slight pulling draught from the not-quite-shut door, rippling against his skin (_pale _skin, he noticed, in a mixture of surprise and peculiar disappointment); the unfamiliar feeling of synthetic fabrics caressing his skin; the harsh cold metal of 'the necklace' against his chest.

But he hadn't let these sensations overwhelm him, as he might have done (and looking back later, he was quite proud of himself for not doing so), instead shaking his head at the shopkeeper's slightly raised eyebrow and walking coolly out of the shop as if he'd done so a million times before. Indeed, it had been quite a disappointment to give Ryou his body back. He'd only done so because his cries of indignity and confusion were starting to get on his nerves.

Oh yes, that was another strange thing to add to his mental list: The Boy couldn't remember anything about it. Really. The spirit had been silently dreading his questions later on, not least because this would involve answering The Boy, which he didn't really consider a constructive use of his time. What would he say, anyway? He wanted The Boy to know as little about him as possible, but he also, despite what it may have seemed like, wanted The Boy to continue to think of him as his 'friend.' It just made things easier.

But when the evening had approached and no reference had been made to the incident of earlier, he had started to become confused. Why wasn't he saying anything?

So he questioned Ryou, only to be met with a blank stare. He didn't actually see the expression; he hadn't actually seen Ryou's face yet and had no idea about his appearance other than the fact that he was so alarmingly pale, but he could almost feel The Boy's mouth twisting into a blank question mark.

(What about earlier? What happened?)

((…Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it.)) _Idiot,_ he silently added. He was managing to hide his thoughts from The Boy now, although he suspected some of the stronger emotions still found their way through. Like taking over the body, he couldn't explain exactly how he had managed to do it. It just seemed to come naturally.

But the long and short of it was that Ryou remembered nothing of what had happened. The spirit was to find that, although when he was in control Ryou was aware of it, in a perplexed, bewildered way, once the use of his body had been returned to him he could recall very little of what had happened. He kept this realisation to himself, hugging it to his body like a toy that is about to be confiscated by an adult, and made a mental note to himself to exploit it as fully as he could.

………

((Boy?))

(Yes, spirit?)

((What is the Japanese way of saying 'host'?))

('Yadonushi.' Why?)

__

Ya-do-nu-shi. The spirit repeated the words slowly to himself, tongue and lips lightly caressing the words. _I like that._

((No reason…yadonushi.))

A faint flicker of unease. (Why are you calling me that?)

((I live in you. You are my host, my landlord.))

(…Oh.)

__

Nothing more.

………

The Easter holidays ended all too soon for Ryou, each minute a countdown marking the moment when he would return to school, and Them. Not that this haunted him a lot. It had been two weeks, after all, and maybe They would leave him alone now. It wasn't a big deal, anyway.

Yami Bakura got the shock of his life when, after school, three extremely large and muscular teenagers cornered Ryou in the toilets and proceeded to bang him against the wall. He got an even further shock when The Boy put up absolutely no fight; his expression resigned to the inevitable.

((What the- aren't you going to fight them?))

(I don't like violence. And they'll stop soon. Or later. Or eventually. It doesn't matter. They'll get bored and wander off. They always do.)

((But they're _damaging the body!))_ Yami Bakura's voice rose to a screech of fury. ((I don't care if you're too cowardly to resist them – I have to live in this body too!))

Silence.

The largest teenager grinned as he drew back his fist, ready to smash Ryou's face in, when suddenly he stopped, mouth turning into a perfect 'O' of surprise. Because all of a sudden Ryou didn't look as if he was going to put up with any more of this. His long mane of hair which so many girls drooled over had flared out crazily around his face, the top two spikes forming into mocking little devil horns. His soft brown eyes were tinted crimson, like blood. And few girls would be drooling over the diabolical smile on his face, mouth pulled back in a grinning rictus. He seemed taller too; eye-to-eye with the largest of his assailants (and that was rapidly becoming the wrong word to use).

"I'll teach you to fuck around with me, you…little…_children!" _For lack of anything better to say, Yami Bakura fell back on the obvious. And not just in words, but in actions too – he seized one of the three by the shirt collar and _rammed_ him into the wall. There was a sprinkling, dusty sound of falling plaster, and he dropped the teenager in disgust, staring instead in interest at the large dent in the wall.

"That adds so much to the décor, don't you think?"

They gaped at him, mouths hanging open in a way which he found almost hilariously funny. And so he threw back his head and laughed – the sound grating, raucous. "Knew you would agree."

A quick punch to the chest took care of the second one – in, out, and then a bloody hole where his heart had ruptured from the sheer force of the blow.

The spirit turned his gaze to the last one, frozen with terror – and caught sight of the bulging veins in his neck, knotted and ropey. Then before he knew what he was doing he had grabbed his victim with a speed that was almost inviting and pulled him so their bodies collided in a rush of flesh and bones. The head was shoved back almost impatiently, fingers moving in a blur, and his teeth went to the pale throat.

The rush of blood produced an ecstasy so complete he gave a faint moan of pleasure; his canines buried in the teenager's neck. The schoolboy was screaming, but only for a moment, as Yami Bakura took a shuddering gasp of blood and sucked him dry, leech-like, before pushing him disdainfully to the ground.

His head calmed, senses returning more or less to normal, and he stared at the three bodies on the ground in front of him. After a moment, tongue moving unconsciously around his lips as he endeavoured to pick up anything that was left, he grabbed the corpse by the wrists and dragged him over to the toilet, before stuffing his head down it. Heh, someone would get a shock tomorrow when they went to shit.

He did the same with the other two, grinning as he pictured the reactions of schoolchildren the next day. Probably run home crying to their mummies, he smirked.

………

He waited until he had walked home before handing control of the body back to The Boy, not wanting him to see anything that could lead to awkward questions later on. And it was back home that he discovered another thing – he could become separate from The Boy – or rather his host, as he was increasingly coming to think of him as. Not totally separate; mind you – or rather, he couldn't be a proper _person, _have a proper _body, _but it was an improvement on having to act through Ryou all the time. He would end up becoming transparent, like a ghost. Well, like a spirit. The existence of ghosts hadn't been a very common belief in Ancient Egypt, but everyone believed in _spirits._ There was your ka, which was sort of like your soul, and there were the spirits of all the old guards who were supposed to haunt pyramids, and loads of other kinds which he couldn't think of at the moment. Hell, even the Gods were spirits, if you thought about it.

It was after he had become separate from Ryou that he saw the physical appearance of his host body for the first time. And what he saw did not please him. Pale skin, (it seemed totally unnatural that someone's skin should be that pale. And he had noticed that most Japanese people had olive skin, ranging in tone from lightly tanned to dark honey. But again Ryou was different, in his annoying way.) far too skinny, (and he was positive that that skinniness wasn't deceptive. There were no more muscles in that body than the ones required to stand upright) and that _white _hair which could be termed no less than _bizarre._ How the hell could someone have white hair? It wasn't right.

And he didn't bother getting started on the dress-sense. All right, when you had white hair it limited your options somewhat (bright orange was _definitely _out) but he could at least have made more of an effort. This was so non-descript, so _safe, _that it bordered on wimpiness. He had a good idea that black would be extremely effective, especially with his host being so pale. Hell, he was so pale he almost looked permanently ill. Having been born and brought-up in Egypt, Yami Bakura was completely unused to the idea of anyone being anything less than extremely tanned and with black hair.

Ryou had stared at him a lot when he had split off. Having the koe from his head appearing in front of him, suddenly extremely real, seemed to have unnerved him slightly. Until now his yami had been nothing more than an invisible friend to him, but now he seemed extremely un-invisible. And, especially later, un-friendly.

"You look like me," he whispered in disturbed awe. "Only…different."

"How?" Despite himself, the spirit was curious as to what he looked like. And, hopefully, it would be as unlike this little brat as possible.

"Sort of…_stretched."_ This word was strangely appropriate. Yami Bakura was perhaps an inch or two taller than his host, and several inches thinner.

He looked down at his hands, and noted that they were slightly darker than Ryou's, although still extremely pale. The transparency of them gave his limbs an ethereal appearance, and he realised in frustration that he was just as skinny as his weak little host, although he knew from earlier that he was far stronger.

He watched as Ryou frowned suddenly. "There's a funny taste in my mouth." He put a finger inside, and when he drew it out there was a watery red liquid on it. He stared at it in confusion.

Yami Bakura, on the other hand, stared at it in sudden hunger, feeling the same feelings as earlier suddenly rise up within him.

"…What happened to…to them?" His voice carried the usual tentative note, but there was an undercurrent of what might have been wariness in his voice.

"They got bored and went away. Just like you said." The lie came swiftly and easily to his lips.

"…Oh. Good." Suddenly something changed in his expression. "I hope they didn't damage my necklace."

The spirit regarded him in a mixture of curiosity and bristling suspicion. "What necklace?"

Ryou put a hand down his shirt and slowly pulled out the Millennium Ring. He didn't need to give a reply.

Yami Bakura's eyes went wide on seeing it. Although on first sight it meant nothing to him, the object

__

No, I don't mean object I mean Item

seemed to strike a bass note deep within him, and he felt, _knew, _he had seen it before. What was more, he knew it was important

__

To my existence

To myself, my soul

It has my soul

Where did these thoughts come from? He tried to analyse them, tried to find out why they had formed in his mind, but they seemed to have come from nowhere and disappeared into the same.

__

Into the void

Stop it, he commanded himself uneasily.

"Do you like it?" Ryou asked eagerly, oblivious to the impact it had caused.

"…Yes. It's very nice." _What the hell is it?_

"I know. It's quite heavy though. I might take it off for a bit. I mean, seeing as I've been wearing it since last Tuesday and everything…" The boy burbled happily on, while reaching up and lifting the Millennium Ring from around his neck.

The spirit watched, and as his host lifted it over his head his vision began to swim and he lost his balance. _"Don't do that!"_

"Huh?"

"Put it back on. Now."

Looking slightly frightened, Ryou let go and let the Item swing back down. "Why?"

"Because…" Yami Bakura could have sworn the eye in the middle of it was winking at him. "…Because it's quite pretty so you ought to keep it on. All the time."

"…Oh. Okay. If it makes you happy." His host looked slightly bemused, but did as he was told.

The spirit silently breathed a sigh of relief. _What the hell just happened?_ As soon as the boy had started to take it off he had instantly felt waves of weakness wash over him, and he had _felt_ the physical world slipping away. What did it mean? Was his strength somehow connected to this necklace?

"…When did you get it?"

Ryou thought for a moment. "I think about five days ago."

Five days. He'd been keeping track of time since he'd woken up, and was sure that around four or five days had passed. And five days ago the boy had got the necklace.

Ryou continued proudly, "It was a present from my daddy. He got it in Egypt."

Yami Bakura's gaze snapped back to him. _"Where?"_

Mistaking his incredulity for ignorance, the boy explained hastily, "It's a country in Africa. With camels and things. It's supposed to be really hot there too."

"I know where Egypt is," the spirit snapped. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from adding, _you naïve little fool. _But his mind had already moved on. He had already been sure that he had some sort of connection with this country, and having the boy mentioning that he got this mysterious necklace from it was strengthening his suspicions.

"Really? I don't. I just know it's somewhere in Africa." Ryou's tone turned doubtful. "Do the camels there really have three humps?"

"Some of them have four," Yami Bakura replied absently, his mind on other things.

"Wow! So you've been there?"

"I- what?"

"Have you been to Egypt?" Ryou repeated excitedly.

He thought he had, but wasn't sure. "No."

"Oh."

"Where is your father?" he asked slowly, wanting to know how many people lived in the apartment.

"He's gone back to work in Egypt."

"I see." So it was just the boy who would be around.

Having lost interest already, Ryou was consulting his school planner. "I should really get some homework done. More school tomorrow, you know. And I don't want to get into trouble. It isn't fun if you get into trouble."

"Of course not." Yami Bakura thought of the now probably-blocked school toilets and, unseen by his host, began to smile.

…………

A/N: Mwahahaha. What will happen tomorrow at school? (adopts singsong voice) You'll just have to wait and see…

Yami Bakura: Review! Or I will pulverise this puny little host of mine.

Ryou: Koe, what does 'pulverise' mean?


	3. Ryou makes a new friend

A/N: Ooooh, I'm having fun writing this. The irony of the whole thing keeps making me laugh.

Kami-sama: God

-kun: suffix used to show friendship towards that person.

-chan: suffix used after someone's name. Is used to show friendship, but in a closer and more intimate way than '-kun.' i.e. used for close relatives or close friends.

Chapter Three: It looks like Yami Bakura has a rival in his position as Ryou's Best Friend.

While Ryou arrived at school the next day with his usual mixture of resignation and hopefulness, the spirit inside him was experiencing a fiendish curiosity, bordering on excitement. True, going to school had the downside of being surrounded by puny mortals for six hours, which always made his skin crawl. There was something about their raging feebleness which made him shudder in disgust every time they brushed past - as if, by touching them enough times, he would somehow become infected with their incompetence and idiocy. But it also meant that today he would be able to witness their reactions on seeing the corpses of three of their fellow pupils stuffed down the toilet. With luck, the likely flooding from the blocked drains would mean the bodies would be discovered within minutes of school starting. Perhaps it had already been found out – after all, what time did the tutors arrive? He hoped it wasn't too long before the pupils. He wanted to hear them screaming.

And indeed he did.

…………

**__**

"Kami! Oh Kami, it's** horrible!"**

Thus came the first of the many cries, which would range from simple disgust to horror to outright fainting. The unlucky pupil ran screeching from the male toilets, arms carving frantic windmills in the air. The more polite students looked up in shock at the non-usage of the customary suffix: after all, you could drop it if you were sufficiently pissed off with someone at school, but if you went round screaming 'Kami!' at the ceiling you could find yourself suffering for it in your next life.

Yami Bakura allowed himself a wolfish grin as he heard this. Oh Gods, this was going to be _so_ funny.

"Jounouchi-kun? Are you all right? What happened?" one of his friends gabbled.

Never one to avoid the dramatics, Jounouchi made a show of panting. "Oh Kami, I've never seen anything so bad-"

Another time he might have been shaken to get the point across, but no one was going to interrupt this celebrity of his moment. Besides, Jounouchi had no intention of being deprived of his moment of attention, and milked every moment.

"It…it was so terrible…I just can't believe it…" One hand was drawn across his forehead in a theatrical gesture.

Disgusted with his attention seeking, Honda said in contempt, "Leave him. He's making a big fuss over nothing, as usual."

Anzu hushed him. "Please let him talk, Honda-kun. He's obviously been through something awful."

"I have," the hero assured the hall as one.

"Can't you just sh-"

"They're_ dead!"_ Jounouchi announced dramatically. "I _saw_ them!"

Silence.

"It's like 'The Sixth Sense,' Honda muttered to no one. He put on a childish voice. "I…see dead people…"

Jounouchi elbowed him without making it look as if he had done anything. Over his friend's startled yelp, he said loudly, "Go and look in the toilets if you don't believe me! They're _dead!"_

"Who are?" Anzu whispered.

"Yoshitomi, Kuroda and Ando."

"Oh K-Kami-sama…that's…"

Several girls had burst into tears on hearing the names – the oafs had obviously been popular, although why was anyone's guess. The rest had fallen in stunned silence, although a few people with strong stomachs and little imagination/respect had sneaked off to see the bodies. The screams would start within minutes, along with mews of disgust: Jounouchi had neglected to mention the part about their heads being stuffed down the toilets. As expected, the toilets had blocked; already the water had seeped out from under the doorway and into the corridor.

It seemed like a few people were going to be late for lessons.

Nobody saw Ryou bent over almost double at the other end of the corridor, chest heaving in silent laughter.

…………

After assembly there was a massive queue forming outside the boys' toilets, the line involving more than a few girls. No one had called a cleaner yet about the flooded corridor, but it was only a matter of time.

During the muted mayhem, the five hundredth and twenty-fifth pupil came through the doors, having arrived late. As his newly polished school shoes filled with water his eyes went wide and his lips formed the words, _Kami-sama._ He had no way of knowing that so far sixty-three people had uttered that word today.

The late pupil waded his way through to his classroom, water sloshing audibly around the toes of his shoes and drenching his socks. His mother would have been disappointed – they were standard ankle-length white ones (the point being that such cheap material shrinks on contact with water) and had just come out of the washing machine. Carefully hitching up his trousers, which were getting small anyway, he knocked on the door of the classroom.

"Come in."

He entered.

The teacher looked up and smiled at him; he returned the gesture. "Ah, the last pupil. Why weren't you at school yesterday?"

"I'm very sorry - I was off sick. I've got a note." He dumped his soggy school bag on a desk at the front next to one of his friends, who grinned at him. Rummaging in his bag for a moment produced the note, and he ambled amiably up to the teacher.

"Thank you, Yugi-kun."

…………

By lunch-time someone had obviously gone running to the teachers, for an 'Out of Order' sign had been pasted on the door of the boys' toilets, and when Yami Bakura sneaked inside he found that the bodies had been removed, although not the hideous smell.

With no spare toilets for the male students of the school, the teachers were resigned to having to share theirs with them. More than one male tutor was seen to curl his lips in disgust when he came in to find adolescents crammed full of testosterone hanging about.

Ryou had lunch on his own, as usual, on a table away from everyone else. It wasn't that he had a particularly solitary personality – simply that he was too nervous to ask if he could share a table with anyone else.

"Hey, Ryou-kun!"

He flinched slightly as he turned, as if expecting to be hit in the face with an unwanted sandwich. It had happened before.

Yugi came over to him, round face all smiles. "Why are you always over here on your own? Come and sit with us!"

"R-really? Arigato!" Hardly able to believe his luck, he picked up his tray and followed the boy to where he and his friends were sitting, feeling as if he were in a dream.

((Who is he?)) Yami Bakura demanded.

(He's called Motou Yugi. He's really nice, _and_ popular. I've never sat with him before.) His host sounded slightly dazed.

The spirit shrugged mentally at how anxious these silly little mortals were to be liked, and watched in little interest as they sat down.

"What lesson do you have after lunch?"

"Biology," Ryou said through a mouthful of peas.

A gasp of delight. "Wow, I have that too! Looks like we'll be together!"

They made a good pair, the spirit of the Millennium Ring thought in tired amusement. Their overwhelming enthusiasm for everything and genuine naivety seemed to mean they would agree on nearly everything.

"Really? Wow!"

At least their conversations would be harmless, if predictable, Yami Bakura thought with a sigh.

"So what did you do in the holidays?"

"Nothing much. Oh wait, my granddaddy gave me this weird necklace. At least, he said it was a necklace, but I don't think it is. It doesn't look like one."

Ryou was about to interrupt with how _he_ had a new necklace as well, and the darker aspect of his personality was forced to jump in quickly and take control, so that all Ryou could do was grin like an idiot.

"I mean, it's only a load of pieces at the moment. But I think they're supposed to fit together to make a shape or something. Like a jigsaw puzzle."

"Oh." Ryou only had a vague idea of what Yugi was talking about, so he nodded and tried to look interested.

"It sounds strange, I know. But it's kind of fun – trying to put it together. Even if it is really hard. I think there might be some pieces missing or something."

Just then, the bell rang for the end of lunch.

"Oh! I didn't realise it was so late already."

"It's been nice talking to you, Yugi-kun." Ryou got up to leave.

"See you in Biology, Ryou-chan."

Yugi turned, too quickly to see the boy flush crimson, and a second later a smile bigger than a peeled banana spread over Ryou's face at Yugi's choice of suffix. "Ryou_-chan,"_ he repeated to himself shyly.

Someone banged into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. "Arsehole! Get out of the way!"

"S-sorry."

…………

Ryou was even more talkative than usual that evening, telling his 'koe' every little detail about his conversation with Yugi - as if the spirit hadn't even been there.

(It was so amazing, spirit! He asked me to sit with him! Me, sit with him!)

((I guess this means he wants to be your friend.))

(Do you think so? I mean, _I_ hope so, but I'm kind of nervous. You don't think he just felt sorry for me or anything?)

__

Yes. ((No, of course not.))

A sigh of relief. (Phew. I'm glad. I…I just can't believe he used 'chan'! He called me Ryou-_chan!)_

Yami Bakura stifled a yawn. ((That's wonderful.))

(I know! I think he does actually like me!) Ryou sounded thrilled at the prospect. (And then I'll have a friend! A _proper_ friend! Daddy will be so pleased!)

((I'm very happy for you.))

(I don't mean that I don't have any friends already.) Ryou's tone dropped, turning secretive. _(You'll_ always be my best friend, koe.)

((Yippee.))

Ryou was obviously thinking hard. (Maybe you can be my best friend at home, and Yugi can be my best friend at school.)

((Fine with me.))

(Is it? That's good. I don't want you to feel left out or anything.)

Then, to the spirit's horror, the boy came over and hugged him tightly. He wondered in a dazed way how it was actually possible to hug someone who didn't happen to be physically solid, but Ryou seemed to manage well enough.

Finally he was released, and it took all of his self-control not to brush himself down.

(You're so nice to hug, koe.)

((I'm so glad,)) Yami Bakura gasped in a strangled tone.

(So am I.) Ryou beamed at him.

…………

The floors had been mopped fastidiously and Yami Bakura noted this with a tinge of disappointment. The teachers had been in a flurry yesterday: after a hasty meeting, phone calls had been made to the parents of the three dead boys, and the atmosphere of the whole school was solemn, mournful, numb.

Yugi had been informed by Jounouchi, and his face had puckered into one of typical sorrow, hiding the relief within. He too had had problems with bullies.

Ryou had been taking books out of his locker in preparation for the next lesson (Japanese) when the bewildering bulges appeared in his shirt.

"Wha-"

A second later, after hastily glancing round to make sure there was no one about, Yami Bakura had whipped out the Millennium Ring, and stared. The tines, which had previously been hanging loosely down, had reared up and were standing erect, unaided – spread out in a fan shape. His eyes grew wider as they twitched as if receiving radio signals and pointed, as one, ahead.

Tentatively he tried to push one of the points back down, but it was as if it had been moulded into that shape, and refused to move. He suddenly noticed the whole object was glowing, like it had been plugged in to an electrical socket, and dropped it. The word 'radioactive' was not a part of his vocabulary, but it was the feeling of this nonetheless that leapt into his mind.

The spikes moved, sticking out at right angles to the rest of the Ring, still pointing in the same direction as before. The possibility that it might be pointing at something specific suddenly occurred to him and, acting on an impulse, he hesitantly held it in one hand and waved it uncertainly about. The tines swayed, tinkling against each other like wind chimes, and still pointing resolutely ahead.

Yugi, seeing Ryou leaning against the wall and frowning, obviously fiddling with something, went up to him. "Ryou-chan, you're going to be late for lessons!"

Yami Bakura jumped, guiltily, and stuffed the Millennium Ring down his shirt. "I…didn't realise. Where are we supposed to be?"

Slightly suspiciously: "Japanese. Five minutes ago."

"Oh no! Mustn't be late for that!" Yami Bakura exclaimed, doing what he thought was a pretty good imitation of his host. It fooled Yugi, who instantly relaxed. The ancient spirit snatched up Ryou's schoolbag and ran down the corridor after him.

"What were you doing anyway?"

"…Homework," the spirit lied, dragging the first excuse he could find out of Ryou's head.

"Oh."

Mumbling hurried excuses to the teacher, the two found seats next to Anzu and sat down. To his relief, Yami Bakura noticed that whatever had caused his necklace to behave so strangely had died down, for it hung flat and unnoticeably under his shirt. A glare from the teacher prompted him to grab a piece of paper and start writing down notes, as the man began to dictate information in a lethargy-inducing drone.

Running his eye over what he had just scribbled, the spirit was just about to hand control back over to his host when he realised in horror that he had been writing in _hieroglyphs._

Shit!

But how the hell was he supposed to write in Japanese? He didn't know any-

Ryou did, though. And whatever his avatar knew how to do, he did as well.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, while trying unnoticeably to steal a fresh piece of paper off Yugi, he felt around in Ryou's mind and started to pen notes in Japanese. At first the characters were wobbly, in the careful, imprecise way of someone writing in an unfamiliar language, but as he became used to the style he was expected to use, it became easier. After he had managed to catch up, and the teacher had paused for breath, he felt confident enough to hand control back to his host again.

Ryou stared blankly around, not remembering how he had got here; then, as he took in the teacher and pupils around him, his eyes cleared as he recognised the familiar situation and he continued to take down notes, staring for a moment at the handwriting which was not his own.

Back in his soul room Yami Bakura let out a massive sigh of relief and, curling up on his bed, went to sleep. Who could have known trying to live Ryou's life was so tiring?

………

He was woken up half an hour later by the hated school bell, the sound circling his soul room and bouncing off the walls in a way which made him groan and turn over, fingers crammed firmly in his ears. He could hear his vessel chatting nervously to Anzu as they walked out, before meeting up with Jounouchi and Honda, who had just finished Physics.

"That was _so_ boring," Yugi pronounced.

Ryou couldn't even remember half of it, but nodded anyway.

"I'm just so glad it's break-time. My uncle gave me last night's pizza to eat. Don't you just love cold pizza?"

"Yeah, it's really nice."

"I know. Hey, speaking of my uncle, have a look at this!" Yugi reached under his shirt and pulled out something gold. "It turned out it _was_ a necklace after all, so I threaded it with a chain and thought I'd start wearing it. What do you think?"

"It's really cool," Honda declared in admiration.

((What is?)) Yami Bakura mumbled drowsily. He was rapidly deciding that it was no use trying to go to sleep while Ryou was at school – all those high-pitched, chattering voices cut straight into his head. ((…Oooh, gold.))

(It's pretty, isn't it? And it looks a bit like-)

Yami Bakura leapt out of bed as quickly as if he was being paid on how fast he did it. ((It…it is a Millennium Item…another one…))

__

A what? his mind demanded. _Where the hell did that come from?_ The knowledge had simply appeared in his mind from nowhere; it was almost as if the sight of Yugi's new necklace had triggered residue memories, for he also now knew that his own necklace was called the Millennium Ring, and that Yugi's was the Puzzle…

((He's the vessel of the Pharaoh,)) he whispered to himself, mouth suddenly dry. Again, he had no idea how he knew this, simply that he was certain it was true. And there were seven Millennium Items in all, recognisable by the Eye of Ra carved into their gold surface, and –

Like a lake that had suddenly run dry, the knowledge was suddenly and abruptly cut off, leaving a twanging in his mind like the sound of an elastic band, swirling round and round.

Taking control, just for a moment, he met Yugi's eyes. Something flickered in the boy's expression as their gazes locked – something that might have been recognition. Yugi's eyes widened, and he seemed about to say something, even as Yami Bakura slipped back into the deeper recesses of his host body's mind. But one thing had been made clear: whoever this Pharaoh was, he hated him. No, that was too vague, too common a word. He _loathed_ him; every particle of his spirit being despised this vestige of the Pharaoh, hiding behind a young little boy as he himself was doing.

He let Ryou stare innocently at the Puzzle for a moment longer, while silently comparing the Item to his own. What kind of thing was shaped like that, for Ra's sake? You couldn't hide something as lumpy as an inverted pyramid. And the Pharaoh had poor control indeed over his host if he couldn't stop him waving the object around like a plaything.

Even from here he could make out, through Ryou, the cracks that showed how the Puzzle had previously been only so many gold pieces, before they had been painstakingly put together, _solved._ Was it supposed to be some sort of test, he mused: that to be worthy to wear the Puzzle you first had to put it together? Some test of competence? If so, it had failed, for this was the most pathetic excuse for a boy Yami Bakura had ever seen. His own yadonushi wasn't anything worth shouting about, but he had definitely got a better deal than the Pharaoh had when it came to host bodies.

Something occurred to him, causing him to throw back his head and scream with laughter, the sound a delirious, hysterical joy at such a triviality which he had just noticed: if the Pharaoh's new form was basically that of his host, then he, Yami no Bakura, was taller than the Pharaoh. A small detail yes, and relatively unimportant, but gratifying beyond belief. He would tower over this tiny form who had once been ruler of Egypt and was now squashed into the body of a midget. Oh, this was the most satisfying thing _ever._

Ryou felt very little of his darker half's feelings, other than the fact that he was exceedingly happy, and such was the simplicity of his nature that his natural reaction was to feel happiness for his yami that he was so delighted. His other felt this, and laughed.

…………

Yugi chewed the end of his Biro (a habit Ryou deplored) and frowned as he bent over his Maths homework. He and his fellow Item-holder were in the school library, trying to finish the work they had been set at the end of class. Neither really understood the work and Ryou, who hadn't even heard most of it, was utterly clueless as to what they were supposed to do.

The Ring-holder sighed and tried to think back to what the teacher had been saying. The problem was that he simply couldn't _remember_: there seemed to be great patches of _black_ in his memory (these actually signified when his own personal darkness had taken over). However, the fact that he had several rather large gaps in his memory didn't bother Ryou unduly – school was bad enough without having clear-cut recall of every second. He had probably just dozed off, anyway; it wouldn't have been the first time.

Ryou sighed again, trying his hardest to concentrate on what Yugi was saying. It would have been easier if Yugi had sounded interested – as it were, he was hardly any more enthusiastic about Maths than Ryou was.

Eventually the other boy also sighed, and put down his pen. "Let's give this up for now, shall we? We aren't getting very far."

Barely bothering to disguise his relief, Ryou also put his pen back on the table.

"Do you want to come round to my house some time? Say, tomorrow?"

"That sounds great!"

They both grinned happily at each other. Inside Ryou's head, a certain spirit was also grinning.

…………

A/N: I like the way this story is going – I'm managing to follow my original vague plot, while getting more ideas along the way. I think the next chapter might turn out to be the last, but it depends on what happens. And, of course, on how many reviews I get! So review and make me happy! I like being happy! (does happy dance around room)


	4. Just Playing Around

Sayonora: goodbye (Japanese)

Ma'assalama: goodbye (Arabic)

Koe: voice (Japanese; I know I mentioned the meaning of this word in chapter two, but I thought I would add it in for the sake of clarity)

Chapter Four: Just Playing Around

Ryou had decided that, on the whole, life was very, very good. Yugi liked him; he had a pretty necklace with a nice voice living inside it; and he was doing okay at school as well. These weren't really very big things to happen, not in the long run, but he had decided that wanting anything else for a while would be a bit ungrateful. He would concentrate on enjoying the things he had right now as much as he could, just to show whoever was responsible for their happenings that he appreciated them. And then maybe more good things would happen. But if they didn't then he didn't really mind.

He didn't enjoy classes today as much as he usually did, seeing them as something that took up tediously long amounts of time between now and the moment when he would be going round to Yugi's house after school. Yugi seemed distracted as well; there were moments during lessons where he would stare wildly around the room as if he had never seen it before, or as if he were a crazed lunatic viewing the cell which would be his home for the rest of his life. These bouts never lasted more than a few seconds, after which he would be quiet and subdued. Ryou interpreted this as meaning that Yugi was just as thrilled about meeting up after school as Ryou himself was; he took to smiling at Yugi whenever these 'moments' occurred, during which the boy would stare at him as if wondering who the hell he was.

He followed Yugi during the lunch hour, tailing faithfully on his heels in the manner of a devoted dog. Yugi didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he hardly seemed aware of the presence of any of his friends; Jounouchi and Honda made several attempts to get him to 'snap out of it' before Anzu shushed them and they started a mock brawl in the corridor. This seemed to awaken Yugi from his trance, though his reaction was not of its usual kind – he looked almost alarmed.

Such was his involvement with them that no one noticed when he slipped quietly off into a side classroom; not even Ryou caught on until a few moments had passed and he realised he had lost sight of his idol. Distress formed on his pointed features, the expression of a dog who has been abandoned by its master without warning. Where could Yugi have gone? How could he hope to be safe without Ryou checking? He milled about uncertainly, the scent growing ever colder, before faint voices reached his ears and he tiptoed to the door of a classroom he knew to be empty during lunch. Pressing his ear against the wood yielded indistinct sounds that gradually became more coherent: the first, Ushio-san (Ryou's mind added the respectful suffix automatically), a close friend of the three thugs found in the toilets the previous day; and a voice which after a moment he recognised as Yugi's, though it was louder and more confident than he had ever heard it before. Centimetre by centimetre, he cranked the door handle downwards and eased the door open a few excruciating millimetres, praying it wouldn't creak. His eyes widened at what he saw; a second later they narrowed to crimson slits as Yami Bakura inched the door open slightly wider, expanding his vision.

Yugi and Ushio were both sitting on the desks. Ushio was irritated and tense, while Yugi looked entirely at ease. His arms were folded easily across his chest, and the gesture emphasised the confidence that seemed to radiate from him like an aura.

"Look, what shit is this?" Ushio was saying. "I don't want to play a game; I want your lunch money. Seems simple enough to me. And by the looks of it you have more than enough of it."

Yugi appeared to have a wad of cash placed on his palm; Yami Bakura looked at it and had to restrain himself from giving an admiring whistle. This weakling certainly enjoyed his food.

"That may be. But, precious though I am sure your time is, I'm sure you could spare a little of it. It's a very simple game. I doubt even a brainless oaf such as yourself could misunderstand the rules."

The sheer confidence in his tone held the listener intoxicated; it was a few moments before Ushio registered the fact that he had been insulted.

"What the-what did you call me?"

"Don't worry," Yugi said soothingly. His voice was deep, and rich in a commanding tone that Yami Bakura had never heard before. Did this mean…?

Yugi was turned away from him, so the Ring-spirit couldn't see his face. But even as the frustration rippled through his mind, Yugi turned and looked towards the door so that Yami Bakura was forced to shrink hurriedly away.

"You don't need to worry about that." He turned back to Ushio. "All that matters is that you remember the rules. Then you will know how you can win. And you want to win, don't you?"

"Yeah," the teenager said in a dreamy tone. He blinked, shook his head from side to side, and snapped, "All right, now get on with it. I'm listening."

"I'm sure you are." Yami's voice was reassuring in its confidence, and even Yami Bakura was becoming lulled by it. Impossible not to know that the Pharaoh was in total control of the situation. It didn't matter that the child he had spied on for the past few days didn't have the charisma to make even the school idiot listen to him, because the Pharaoh had everything under control. And that meant everything was going to be fine.

"The rules are very easy. The _game_ is very easy. Do you like easy games?"

"Yeah. Easy to win."

Yami was so close that his breath could be felt on the teenager's face, even as he gazed, hypnotised, back at him. "Really? I don't. There is no skill in an easy game. Only chance: the fool's saviour. I like a _challenge."_

Ushio blinked, his face as slack and guileless as a fish.

"Now: the rules. We use this knife-" he pulled it out of his pocket and again Yami Bakura gaped at him- "and we slide it into the stack of money. And we keep going until we want to stop. And we get to keep the amount we have skewered. Then it is the next person's go."

Ushio stared. "Why the hell would we want to stop?"

__

"Because," Yami said patiently, "If you go too far you will stab your hand."

"Wha-"

"The money is placed in your palm. Driving the knife in too deep will cause your skin to break and blood to flow. It is not a desirable thing to happen."

Ushio got it, then. _"Oh._ Duh. Of course not. Who would be so stupid as to do that anyway?"

"You would be surprised. And now, we start. I shall begin." He positioned the money in his hand, and slowly began to slide the blade into the thick stack of notes. After a moment he stopped. "That will do for now, I think." He pulled the knife out, and with it came the impaled money, over two thirds of it.

"Your turn." Yami smiled easily, thousand yen notes moving seductively through his fingers.

With a leer for increased effect, the teenager snatched the knife and remainder of the money off him and started to slip the knife in, face contorted with concentration. Suddenly he yanked the knife roughly out and slid it into Yami's heart.

Or rather the place his heart would have been if he hadn't moved a nanosecond before. Ushio blinked stupidly, while Yami Bakura, who had witnessed the slight blurring as the Pharaoh had dodged the lunge as it happened, gazed with new respect at his adversary. And he saw it again- that blurring as the spirit's form moved too quickly to be followed, as he seized the teenager by the throat, his fingers curling under the pudgy chin. Yami's other hand came up, and he yelled, _"Mind Crush!"_

When Yami Bakura's vision adjusted, he saw Ushio sitting in one of the chairs, with Yami standing over him. He was smiling; then, without warning, he turned and looked Yami Bakura right in the eyes.

The Ring-spirit jerked back involuntarily, crimson pupils dilated in astonishment.

The Sennen Eye blazed on the Pharaoh's forehead; by comparison, his face was composed, even serene. "Ryou-"

Yami Bakura wasn't aware of exactly what happened next: later, he would only vaguely recall the moment when he pointed a finger at Yami, while simply stating, "No." The word would echo around his consciousness for minutes at a time afterwards, blocking out everything else. He had only a dim memory of how a titanic blue flash had enveloped them both, and that when the lights finally stopped winking in his vision he had seen Yami leaning dazedly against the wall, and his first words had been, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm going to give you the graveless death you deserve," Yami Bakura whispered, and walked out of the room.

……………

He knew everything would be all right when, during English (their compulsory second language), Yugi turned to him and said with his usual fervent delight: "Nearly time for the end of school! I've been planning what we're going to be doing at my house all day!"

Ryou smiled enthusiastically back.

……………

Yami Bakura couldn't say that he had looked forward to the end of school in quite the way Ryou and Yugi had, but he had felt a definite relief when the bell rang. Unless the Pharaoh was planning for a confrontation at his host's house (which the Ring-spirit sincerely hoped he wasn't) it meant an opportunity to have a few hours of sleep in his soul room, and of late he hadn't had very many.

On the way to the school gates they passed Ushio sitting in the yard, hunched over something. Curiosity piqued, he took over and went for a look.

Ushio was crouched in a pile of leaves, shuffling them about as he used a stick to divide them into groups.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The teenager grinned inanely at him. "I'm counting my money."

"Your…money," Yami Bakura repeated faintly. His thin white eyebrows rose until they were lost from view.

"You betcha. And don't you dare think about stealing any. It's mine. I made it myself."

The spirit was tempted to pat him on the head. "Aren't you clever."

Giggle. "Thank you."

Yami Bakura watched him play for a moment longer, fascinated by the teenager's complete detachment from reality. What exactly had the Pharaoh done to him? _Actually_ crush his mind? Interesting. Perhaps he could learn to do it too.

Eventually, with a contemptuous snort he spun round and strode out through the school gates, noting that, despite his apparent enthusiasm for his host's friendship, Yugi hadn't bothered to wait for him. This was a larger problem than it seemed: where the hell did Yugi live?

Frowning, he rifled through his host's mind, observing as he did so that Ryou appeared to be in a state of sleep, and was almost completely unaware of anything. He was pondering on this, when the words _Kame Game Shop_ leapt at him out of Ryou's memory, and he remembered in a jolt that Yugi lived with his grandfather.

He had been walking absently along the pavement during the mental search, but now he reached out and snagged a random passer-by by the shirt, like plucking a blackberry from a bush. "Hey, you. Where can I find the 'Kame Game Shop'?"

"Get off me!"

The spirit smiled, the expression crooning the words _I don't think so_, while pulling him closer, remembering hazily that the Pharaoh had used this method to intimidate his victim. "Let's make this easy. You tell me where it is and I let you go. Or, you be difficult, and I rip your throat out. Try to decide quickly."

The unfortunate boy swallowed, before stuttering hoarse directions. Yami Bakura gave another smile and shoved him away. "Much appreciated." As he continued his stroll, now with a much clearer idea of where he was going, he reflected that he had just threatened someone in broad daylight, and none too subtly, yet no one had attempted to interfere. People never changed, he thought bitterly.

He turned left, into a near-deserted side street, and his mouth turned briefly upwards at the sudden reduction in noise. Why did people always have to talk so much? They never said anything interesting. And the clamour produced was such that he suspected they probably never listened to each other anyway.

Once he had reached another main road, and his mouth had thinned as his ears were abruptly assailed with the unwelcome chatter of happy voices, there came a roaring from behind him. He paused, and turned-

Only to witness his first motorbike. He stared openly as it sped past, spewing noxious fumes, and making that awful sound that was like a car stalling, only a thousand times worse. It took an impossibly narrow turn, wheels pivoting ninety degrees and more, as it carried its driver up to the petrol station. He followed it in, and watched in barely concealed fascination as the driver dismounted. He got a glimpse of a tanned face, of which at least half seemed to be massive eyes, before the person turned and began to fill up the motorbike with petrol.

After he (or she?) had plugged in whatever needed to be plugged in, the person straightened and ripped off their helmet, releasing pale blond hair. It cascaded over their shoulders and halfway down their back, and was cropped raggedly at irregular points. The clothes revealed nothing of their figure: baggy khaki trousers (Yami Bakura knew that some of today's youth wore these and the garment was known as 'combats', although he had seen trousers made of blue canvas in varying shades and condition worn by most people, including his yadonushi.) and some sort of black shirt which left the bottom half of his back uncovered. The revealed area was deeply tanned, and he thought he could make out some sort of tattoo poking out.

The person turned. "What the fuck do you think you're staring at?"

Yami Bakura was, indeed, staring; from the moment he had seen the long blond hair he had been certain this person had been a female. Now he had been shown otherwise, and as he stared at this (_punk? And with an attitude problem at that_) male he wondered, for a second, how many other people in Japan looked like this.

The stranger looked about sixteen; he had a striking face that wasn't obviously good-looking, but was sharply formed in a way that was strangely pleasing to look at. The pale hair was a screaming contrast with the dark skin, and Yami Bakura realised with a jolt that this person either naturally had blond hair or had gone to the extent of dyeing their eyebrows as well. As he looked closer he realised why the eyes had seemed so enormous, for they were heavily lined in kohl; and the irises were a pale violet, with darker flecks.

"Well?" One long-fingered hand rested on his hip. Gold bands gleamed around his wrists, lending him an air of ragged elegance. His neck was ringed in same way.

Yami Bakura bristled. He did not appreciate being addressed in that manner. He was this person's superior, dammit, and by the time he had finished with them they would know it. He let his gaze wander down to the teenager's belt, and an idea occurred to him.

There was something familiar about this person, though. Something about the way he spoke, the way in which the words were rapped out as if they were something distasteful. An accent, and one he recognised. He could hear it wrapping itself around the stranger's words, sharpening them.

"You are obviously incredibly naïve, or else you would not address me like that." He delivered the words in purring, flawless Arabic, and was gratified to see the teenager draw back, though otherwise he was astonished by the change in his manner.

"You bastard!" The tone was half snarl, half fearful whisper. "Go tell the rest of the fucking Tomb Keepers that I'm never coming back! You can't make me!"

__

Interesting, Yami Bakura thought to himself. Aloud: "Oh? And who might they be?"

He could see the eyes widen, could now see white around the whole of the purple irises. Then, recovering his poise with commendable speed: "That isn't any of your business. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

A thin smile. "I'm not very sure. However, I am sure that it will suffice for now to say that I am interested in _that,_ and that I intend to own it before the day ends." He indicated the gold object tucked into the teenager's belt.

A smile back, and just as mirthless. "A thief. How amusing."

"Yes?"

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, obviously."

"Oh, but I do." Yami Bakura put a hand to his throat and pulled out the Millennium Ring. The teenager stared.

There was a faint 'click' from somewhere; both ignored it.

The teenager continued to stare at the Item. Then, he looked at his motorbike and noticed for the first time copious amounts of excess petrol gushing out and onto the ground.

"Fuck!"

"Shall I help you clear it up?"

"What? No, don't bother. Someone else will do it."

Yami Bakura smirked. _Maybe his attitude isn't all that bad after all._

"Now, you mentioned my Millennium Rod."

"Yes, of a fashion. I want it."

"Obviously I am not going to give it to you." He looked at it for a moment, then at the petrol-splattered ground, then, finally, at Yami Bakura. "However…perhaps we can arrange something." He looked around. "Not here." His eyes fell on the parking spaces a hundred metres away, before instantly discarding them as he took in the many alleyways nearby. "Wait. I'll go and park my motorbike."

"What is your name?"

He blinked. "What?" Then, recovering his composure: "Why the hell should I tell you? You have refused to share any information about yourself."

The same thin smile as before. "I don't have a name. Not a normal one, at least. But perhaps while we discuss our arrangements I can tell you a little of my situation. Then you may call me what you will."

"Fine, whatever. My name is Malik."

"A very Egyptian-sounding name. I approve."

"How the fuck do you know where I'm from?"

Yami Bakura considered. This was a hard question to answer, in that he wasn't sure exactly _how_ he knew. It was something about the smell he gave off – redolent of pyramids and sand and everything else that was Egypt. Plus the fact that he himself was from Egypt, albeit a very different one from the one this person knew. But he didn't think he could say this so he settled for: "Your accent."

Malik regarded him suspiciously, and Yami Bakura knew that he hadn't believed it for a second. In truth, the teenager's voice was barely distinguishable from a Japanese person's. His spoken Japanese was excellent; it was hard to believe he was foreign, apart from the tan. But another Egyptian could still tell – it was in the slight sharpening of the consonants, and the way his voice was slightly lower than that of a Japanese person.

He followed on foot as the Egyptian teenager slung one foot over his motorbike and, pulling it back so it reared up with a deliciously feral roar of the engine, zoomed down the ramp leading to the main road before turning left into a deserted alley.

Malik glanced furtively over his shoulder to check that the weird albino guy was a few minutes behind. Good. There was something about him that he didn't like. Those damn red eyes for a start.

He dismounted elegantly, giving his motorbike a loving pat. Ra, it _was_ a nice motorbike. Not like one of those pieces of grease and scrap-metal he saw other people on. He was attached to it in a way which he had never felt about his Millennium Rod. To be honest, he wasn't really all that worked up whether it got stolen by that albino freak or not. Well, he needed it to kill the Pharaoh, obviously, but maybe he could work something else out. That albino might agree to help him, you never knew. Although he didn't trust him one bit. He had no idea where he had managed to get another Millennium Item from, but the guy had it and that was bad enough. Or maybe he was lying and he _had_ been sent by the Tomb-Keepers. Who knows what his bitch of a sister would stop at?

When Yami Bakura made it to the alleyway, about three minutes after Malik had, he arrived to find the Egyptian standing with the Millennium Rod in one hand, fingers scrunched tightly around it as if expecting him to try and steal it, and a look in his eyes which yelled, _all right, we've had our fun, but I'm going to have to get rid of you now so sayonora or however you shit-head Japanese say it, and it hasn't been nice knowing you._

The Ring-spirit kept his voice relaxed, while one hand dug in his jacket for the knife he had taken off the Pharaoh earlier. "So. You mentioned a possible negotiation…?"

Malik's voice had turned lower, menacing. "I don't negotiate. The Millennium Rod belongs to me, and I don't intend on parting with it. All I have to do is get rid of you. I doubt you are half as experienced with using that thing as you think you are."

"What, this?" Yami Bakura tugged carelessly at the Ring's tines, making them jangle. "I would not make presumptions of that kind if I were you. I have power you can only dream of." In actuality, he wasn't even sure how to activate it. But no hint of this showed in his expression, which was a knowing smile.

"I doubt it," Malik replied curtly.

"That changes nothing."

"Show me then," the Rod-holder said suddenly.

Yami Bakura's mind raced wildly as he tried to think of an excuse. "Why should I?"

"Because I think you're bluffing. I think you've stolen it or something, and actually have no idea what it is or what it can do."

"Well you thought wrong then," the Ring-spirit snapped. He realised immediately that some of his icy composure had been lost, and continued, "What if I said I thought the same was true of you?"

Malik gave a shark-like smile. "Then I'll give you a demonstration. And if you can't resist me then I'll crush you."

"Big words for a child." Yami Bakura managed to fully put some of his lazy arrogance into his voice this time; judging from the way Malik's eyes went wide in anger, it seemed to work. If it was one thing the Egyptian hated, it was not being taken seriously.

He was expecting him to use the Rod now, but even so it came as a slight surprise when it started to glow and purple flames roared behind the furious teenager. He wondered if the Ring could do the same sort of thing, but was reluctant to try in case it turned out that it could not. Then he thought, _To hell with that. He is just a child. I'm three thousand years older than him, for fuck's sake._

And he felt the warmth of the Shadow Realm burn behind him.

"This is ridiculous. Why are we preparing to fight each other? We have both proven that we can use our Items; why don't we work together?"

He wasn't quite sure why he was coming up with an excuse not to kill this little clot, other than the fact that it seemed a bit pointless. Also, although he wouldn't admit it to himself, he was starting to like Malik. Hell, he was a total bastard, but then so was everyone else in the world. Maybe he would kill him last.

Malik eyed him warily. "What the hell do you mean- 'We should work together?' What makes you think I need someone to help me achieve my goals?"

"Only that it will be far easier if we help each other."

Slowly: "I'll think about it. But first tell me how you came into possession of that." He pointed to the Ring.

Yami Bakura gave his demonic smile, making sure his elongated canines were just visible. "It would be more correct to say that my host was the one who came into possession of it. I am the spirit from within the Millennium Ring; I possess whoever wears it."

He expected Malik to laugh, or look disbelieving, so he was rather taken aback when the teenager said thoughtfully, "Ah. I see. You are in the same situation as the Pharaoh."

"You know him?"

Malik gave a nasty smirk. "Oh yes. I know him."

"And I infer from your tone that you are no great admirer of him?"

He said it casually, and was completely taken by surprise when the Egyptian seized him by the throat and screamed: _"An **admirer? **You dare to say that I am his **friend?** I'm going to **kill **him, you bastard!"_

Yami Bakura twisted his body sideways, positioning his foot behind Malik's leg, and with a swift sideways sweep he knocked Malik off him and to the ground. "Get your filthy hands off me."

Eyes burning, the teenager got to his feet.

"You need to control your emotions," Yami Bakura continued indifferently. "You will never succeed in killing the Pharaoh like that."

He saw Malik's eyes blaze at being addressed in this manner, yet he made no move to leap at him; and a part of the spirit's mind thought, _Good. He's learning already._

"…Will you help me do it?" His voice, by no means subdued or servile, was sullen.

"In return for the Millennium Rod."

"Deal."

"May I ask why you want him dead?"

"He killed my father."

__

So he is out for revenge, Yami Bakura thought to himself. _People like him are blinded by their hate. I could certainly twist this to my advantage._ Aloud: "How noble."

Malik's eyes flashed. "Shut up."

Yes, he would make sure that he broke Malik. Just before he killed him.

"How do you propose we do it?"

"That would be my business."

"Don't be such a fool. How am I going to help you if I don't know what you are planning?"

Yami Bakura shrugged, relenting. "All right. My host attends the same school as the Pharaoh's host does. They are friends."

Malik's lip curled into a sneer. "Are they, indeed."

"Personally, I have no time for such mortal indulgences," Yami Bakura said with a yawn.

Malik was about to reply that he didn't either, than he thought of Rishid and wondered if he counted. Because Rishid wasn't really a _friend,_ was he? Just…a brother. Just someone he could trust.

Eventually he said, "Look, I had better get going. I have other things to do as well." He needed time to organise his mind-slaves. And maybe talk to Rishid for a bit. Not to ask his advice; indeed, Rishid never bothered trying to sway his younger brother on anything anymore. But he listened.

Malik handed the spirit a piece of paper with some hastily scribbled Japanese numbers. "You can have my mobile number. Use it to contact me if anything goes wrong." He would have put part of himself into Yami Bakura through the Rod, just to keep an eye on him; however, he was sure that the spirit would never have consented, and he couldn't be bothered to use force. "Not many people have it."

"I am honoured."

The Egyptian shot him a flat, suspicious look, but Yami Bakura managed to keep a straight face. "Ma'assalama."

"Whatever." Malik grabbed the helmet hanging from the handlebars of his motorbike, pulling it on with a single swift movement. "Don't fuck up in the mean time." He jabbed the keys roughly into place, and in a whirl of dust and smoke was gone.

Yami Bakura walked out of the alleyway and watched as the teenager sped off down the road. An amused smile was playing about his lips. _You'll do,_ he whispered quietly to himself. _You'll do just fine._

…………

He walked home slowly, musing to himself about what would be the best course of action to take next. It wouldn't do to rush things: there was plenty of time, after all. And he was interested to know what 'other things' Malik had to get done. Not just so he would be prepared for when the time came to kill the Pharaoh – he was keen to learn more about his young ally's weaknesses. Who were these Tomb Keepers? Why had he thought Yami Bakura had been one of them?

He pondered these things as he walked, eyes roving unseeingly over the many cracks in the pavement, his legs stepping automatically aside to avoid walking into anyone. Hands had been shoved deep into his pockets, helping to minimise physical contact with other pedestrians; his spiky hair twirled erratically in the wind, causing people walking behind him to stare and raise eyebrows to themselves. But he didn't notice, much less care – his mind was on other things.

Once he had arrived back at his host's apartment he stepped out of him, becoming transparent again, and letting his yadonushi back in control of his body. Ryou was disorientated and bewildered - not surprising, seeing as he hadn't been free to move for over two hours, which was about the longest amount Yami Bakura had ever spent in control so far.

(What happened, koe? I was at school a minute ago…)

His other wasn't paying him much attention, still mulling over what had happened earlier. ((Don't worry about that. You probably fell asleep or something. I took you home.

(But I wanted to go to Yugi-kun's house-)

Yami Bakura did look up then. ((…Shit.)) Oh Ra, this was going to make the Pharaoh suspicious. What the hell was he going to say as an excuse?

(I-I didn't go…?)

((Oh shut up,)) the yami said moodily. ((I have more important things to worry about right now.))

Ryou persisted. (But I _wanted_ to-)

((Why can't you _shut the fuck up?))_ Yami Bakura exploded. (Always saying you _want_ this or you _want_ that; always _whining._ It's pissing me off!))

The boy cringed. (S-Sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you-)

((Oh, I'm sure you didn't _mean_ to. You never _mean_ to act like a weak little idiot all the time; it's funny how you continue to do such a fucking good job of it.)) Yami Bakura towered over his terrified host; for a transparent spirit he was now starting to seem alarmingly solid as he grabbed the petrified boy by the shirt and threw him halfway across the room. Ryou's fall was partially broken by his bed.

(Koe, p-please don't, you're scaring me-)

((Good.)) Yami Bakura approached him, face pulled into a predatory grin.

Ryou was starting to sob, eyes wide in fear and disbelieving. (K-Koe…)

((Don't call me that, yadonushi. I am not just a voice. I am far, far more than a voice. Make sure you remember that.))

(I-I will…)

((Are you sure?)) The spirit drew a nail slowly down his host's neck, feeling him gulp.

(Yes!)

A sigh, almost disappointed, and Yami Bakura stepped away from him. Ryou's breaths were coming out in stubby gasps; he watched his yami as he sat down on a chest of drawers, never taking his eyes off him.

((I shouldn't have done that. It isn't your fault you're weak.))

(I…I know,) Ryou mumbled. (I'm sorry for annoying you. I won't do it again, honest.)

__

I know you won't. ((Don't worry about it, yadonushi.))

(Are…are we still friends?) the light asked tentatively.

((Of course we are.)) Yami Bakura pasted what he sincerely hoped was a forgiving smile on his face.

Ryou beamed at him. (I knew we were! We're going to be friends for ever and ever, aren't we koe?)

The spirit sighed at the nickname, before saying what his host wanted him to hear. ((For ever and ever.))

(I'm so glad you're my friend.) Ryou gave him a massive hug.

………

A/N: originally, according to my draft, this was going to be the last chapter. However, I'm experiencing second thoughts for several reasons: it doesn't seem all that satisfying to me, and also in class yesterday I got the most amazing idea ever for chapter six (which would be the last chapter) but after writing it down and inspecting it from all angles, I've discovered a few rather large holes. Not _plot_ holes, just a couple of problems with it. I'm going to carry it out, but at the moment it is still being patched up, so another update for this story might not be up for two or three weeks. Or, having said that, it could be up in two days. It depends how quickly I can find solutions to the problems in it. Ideas are welcome.

I was going to have a bit more Ryou/Yami Bakura abuse, but decided Yam Bakura wouldn't want to go too far, too soon. He still wants Ryou to trust him, not be petrified of him. Otherwise Ryou might try and get in his way. I actually ended up feeling a tiny bit sorry for Ryou at the end, for the first time so far in this story. Guess it was the way his trust in his 'koe' was so suddenly shattered. But it got rebuilt again damn fast, so never mind that.

I'm pleased with the way my description of Malik turned out. I wanted him to be a complete punk, (hence the long hair and tattered clothing) and to have a 'fuck you all' attitude. I laughed so much when typing some of his lines, just because his character was so clear in my mind.

Anyway, let me know what you think of the way this story is going. I'm starting to wonder if it is better than Scarred was, actually.


	5. Stolen Property

A/N: Got round to typing an update to this story at last, so am pretty happy. I've even managed to stick mostly to my original plot, which is surprising. I was worried that this story was going to become blocked, because of the way all my ideas had suddenly become full of flaws, but after a bit of inspiration from various sources I've managed to get the story rolling again. And if you could hit the lil' button at the bottom of the page which says 'Review', that would really make my day even better. Thanks.

Khara: Arabic for 'shit.' There is some Japanese used in this chapter, only a few lines, which I translated in brackets. Why do I use Japanese? I don't know…I suppose I like to remind people what language everyone is talking in.

Ryou Bakura's Best Friend Chapter Five: Stolen Property

Determined that no scrawny mortal child was going to be more skilled than him at wielding a Millennium Item, Yami Bakura spent the rest of the evening exploring and practising every area of his Item's abilities. It was laborious work and required concentration, but by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon he had managed to send nearly every solid object in the apartment to the Shadow Realm. He had also succeeded in getting them all back in more or less original condition, although it was doubtful whether Ryou's homework would recover enough from the experience to be handed in tomorrow.

The Ring-spirit also coached his host thoroughly on what he was going to say to Yugi tomorrow, and it might be true to say that this process was more lengthy and tiring than any amount of practising with Shadow-powers…

((Now, yadonushi, when you go to school and Yugi asks why you did not go to his house, what will you say?))

(I…) Ryou frowned in concentration. (Don't tell me! I know this! I…I'll say that I didn't come because…because I didn't feel very well.)

((That's good. And what was wrong with you?))

(I…can't remember.)

His dark massaged his temples. ((How many times, yadonushi? If you can't remember what was supposed to be wrong with you then you make it up. I don't think amnesia will be a sufficient excuse.))

(No,) Ryou agreed. (…Koe, why do I have to say I was off sick? Because I wasn't.)

((I have told you already.))

(I know, but tell me again.)

He grits his teeth. ((It's a game we are playing. A pretending game.))

(Oh yeah. I like games.)

An image sprang, unbidden, into Yami Bakura's mind, and for a moment he saw the Pharaoh smiling as he pushed the knife nearer into his hand.

(Do you like games, koe?)

Taken off guard, the spirit replied, ((Only if I win.))

(Oh. But that isn't very nice, is it? Winning doesn't really matter, just as long as you enjoy the game. You don't like losing things, do you?)

His dark gave a distant smile. ((No, yadonushi. I don't.))

…………

Pleasantly exhausted by using so much shadow power, Yami Bakura slept. He slept for five days, in which Ryou attended school, handed in his homework and received it back two days later with an 'A-' awarded (he got a mark deducted for messiness), and told Yugi in a passable imitation of the truth that he had had a horrible headache after school and had gone straight home. Yugi was sympathetic, and the two arranged to meet up after school that afternoon instead. They both had enormous fun, and Yugi introduced his friend to a new game that had just come in. It proved more addictive than either of them had thought, and Ryou stayed for over three hours.

In this way the days passed happily and uneventfully for Ryou; they might have continued to do so for a long time if it were not for the unexpected phone call he received three days after his first visit to Yugi's house.

It started, obviously, with the phone ringing. Ryou put down his Japanese homework on prepositions and picked up the receiver.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Konbanwa, Ryou-kun."

"Who is this?" the light asked uncertainly.

"Don't worry. I'm your friend. I want to talk to your koe; could you get him for me?"

"You…you know about him?"

"Yes. You should go and get him. Now."

Ryou was puzzled. This person obviously knew his koe, or he wouldn't have asked for him; and he had called him 'Ryou-kun', so it meant he was a friend. But why did this person want to talk to his spirit anyway? "I…He's asleep at the moment. But I can wake him up if you want."

"Thank you very much."

"It's okay." Ryou screwed up his eyes. (Spirit?)

Within his soul room, a voice complained, ((I told you that you were never to disturb me when I am sleeping.))

(I know, but there's a person on the phone who wants to talk to you.)

Yami Bakura let out an exasperated grunt as he stretched. ((On the what?))

(On the telephone.)

With only a vague idea of what the object in discussion was, the spirit stumbled from his soul room and out of the door.

((How do I work this?))

(Um, you hold it up to your ear so you can hear the other person talking. Then you just talk normally.)

((A new method of communication using this…what is it? Technology?))

(Yeah.)

Muttering nonsensically to himself, Yami Bakura picked up the phone as if it were an unwashed sock; putting it to his ear, he said cautiously, "Who is this?"

"Malik," came the cool voice from the speaker. "Have a nice sleep?"

Yami Bakura could almost see him smirking. "Fuck that. Where did you get this number?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

The spirit gripped the handset tightly, squeezing it as if it was the Egyptian's throat. "Don't bother playing around with me. I am not a tolerant person."

Malik's tone was infuriatingly lazy. "Uh-huh. Your vessel is sweet, by the way. Very polite."

This was not how Yami Bakura had planned on the conversation going; in an ideal world, he would have been the one in control of the situation, and Malik would be the one feeling somewhat at a loss. "Did you actually have a reason for calling? My time is precious, obviously unlike yours."

When the Egyptian next replied, the false casualness had slid away like a snakeskin and his tone was cold. "I'm sure I have achieved more in my lifetime then you have in your two. And for your information, I called to see if you had managed to come up with any starting plans for the destruction of the Pharaoh, or if you had simply spent the last five days sitting on your bony arse."

__

Touché, the Ring-spirit thought with a yawn. And if you wanted to be technical about it, he didn't have a bony arse because he didn't have any physical bones. Neither did he have an arse._ So stick that up your own arse and shit on it._

"And have _you?"_

"No, of course not." The bored undercurrent was back in Malik's tone. "Your vessel is a strange person, but he has some interesting information in his head. Like…telephone numbers."

Yami Bakura stiffened. "What?"

He heard a low laugh. "You aren't the only person who can read his mind."

The spirit's eyes narrowed; he knew he was asking exactly what Malik wanted him to ask, but said it all the same. "How?"

"A little secret of mine."

Yami Bakura did not like this reply; he only approved of one person having the right to know secrets, and it certainly wasn't the person on the other end of the phone. "You can see into anyone's mind?"

"Easily. But your vessel was an interesting one. Strange perspective of life. I might have another look sometime and amuse myself with all his naïve little thoughts."

Yami Bakura clenched his fingers around the receiver so tightly he could feel the plastic squash out of place. "Listen to me, you bastard. If you ever, _ever_ touch my yadonushi's mind again, I am going to hurt you so much that you are going to beg for death."

Malik didn't sound particularly bothered. "Ever so sorry. I didn't realise you were so fond of him."

__

"I am not fond of him!" the spirit screamed down the phone.

"I appreciate your unfamiliarity with modern technology, but that doesn't mean you have to shout. The sound quality on this mobile phone is quite excellent."

"Don't patronise me," the Ring-spirit snapped.

"Have you heard of 'Duel Monsters'?"

Yami Bakura was getting more than slightly irritated with the way Malik kept changing the subject. "No. Should I?"

"Perhaps. It isn't well known yet, but I can see its popularity increasing quickly. It's a card game, little more than a craze really…and yet, I think it is more than that. Or will be. You should think about expressing interest."

"Oh?" Voice heavy with sarcasm. "And why should I waste my time in this way?"

"It's the sort of thing that would appeal to the Pharaoh. And there are ancient rumours that he is gifted at games."

"Really? I can think of more useful things to be gifted at."

"There are also rumours that defeating him in a game is a way of bringing about his destruction."

"Indeed?" Yami Bakura was interested now. "…How can I get hold of some of these cards?"

Malik's voice was very casual. "Oh, many places. You can buy them in shops. Such as, to choose a random example, the one the Pharaoh's vessel helps run in his spare time."

"Oh, how convenient." As if he would not hesitate to run around doing the Egyptian's bidding. "I might have a look in a day or two. If I do not have anything else planned, of course."

"See that you don't."

Yami Bakura laughed, deliberately making the sound as dislikeable as possible. "Fear not, mortal child. Your orders are my top priority."

On the other end, Malik made as if to slam the mobile phone into the tree he was leaning against, but pulled back at the last moment. "Glad to hear it."

The spirit gazed at the clock, calculating how long it would take to walk to Yugi's house while trying to work out what all the moving lines meant. Why were there three, and of different lengths? Only one was necessary, and it didn't even have to be solid. Perhaps, as this country received so much less sunlight than Egypt, its inhabitants had invented a clock that did not require sunlight to function. How strange.

"I will ring you back in two days."

"Agreed." A click as the teenager hung up.

Yami Bakura looked at the handset, wondering what to do; after jabbing several random buttons he placed it to his ear and frowned at the sounds the phone made, before shoving it moodily back into place. Splitting off, he demanded, ((have you heard of this 'Duel Monsters'?))

Ryou smiled dazedly. (Yeah; everyone has. It's a game.)

((I know. Anything else about it?))

Ryou thought for a moment. (It involves cards.)

((Absolute mine of information, aren't you?)) his dark said nastily.

Rapid blink. (…That wasn't a nice thing to say, spirit.)

Yami Bakura put his hands together and prayed silently for several seconds. After he had done this he looked up and said in an oddly calm voice, ((Yadonushi, I am truly sorry if I have offended you. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me everything you know about this card game?))

Ryou beamed his approval and opened his mouth.

………

Ryou had been the obvious, if not the best, way to find out more about the game; despite his seeming ignorance on nearly everything, he had his uses. After a great deal of coaxing, digressing and weight loss the yami knew everything his host did about the game known to some as 'Duel Monsters'. He could simply have raided Ryou's mind for the appropriate information, of course, but this action would not become a habit until later. For now, talking to his vessel would have to suffice.

A few kilometres away, someone else was facing a challenge of their own. Yugi Motou, having taken up position in front of the hall mirror, was repeating variations of the same question over and over again, watching carefully all the while to see how he looked.

"Um hi, it's Yugi; may I speak to Anzu?" Pause. "Hi. I was wondering, um, if you weren't busy or anything, do you want to meet up for lunch? …Um, I was thinking about the café down the corner. And after that, um, we can hang out and stuff- _oh Kami-sama, that's all wrong!"_

His reflection smirked at him as he frowned, muttering, "too many 'um's.'" He sighed and unconsciously smoothed back his tri-coloured hair. Taking a deep breath: "Would you like to go out for lunch together? …No, I can't say that; it sounds too…like we're going out. Does the 'together' make me sound too keen? Yeah." Cue the heaving of the world-weary sigh. "Why is life so complicated?" he wondered aloud.

His reflection shrugged.

Yugi shrugged too and picked up the phone. He eyed it nervously. "Okay, I…I can do this." He took a deep breath and dialled.

"Moshi moshi?" (Hello?)

"Anzu-kun wa imaska?" (Is Anzu there please?)

"Aa. Chotto mattete." (Yes. Hold on.)

Yugi waited for what seemed like an eternity and a half, anxiously gnawing his lip away to nothing, before the receiver was breathlessly snatched up. "Hello?"

"Um, hi. How are you?" _Damn, first 'um' already._

"Oh, I'm fine. And you?"

"Yeah. Look, I was w-wondering if you wanted to go out for lunch? …Really? Well, I was thinking…you know that café in town…?"

Half an hour, hardly believing his luck, Yugi was strolling down the high street, feeling as if he were walking on clouds every inch of the way. After all those dreams, it was finally happening: he had a date with Anzu. Well, not really a date, but if it went well then who knew what could happen next? Just as long as he didn't say or do anything embarrassing…

"Yugi-kun!"

No 'chan', at least not yet. Which was probably just as well; Yugi's euphoria at hearing this would have made Ryou's delight at the same suffix coming from Yugi's mouth seem like less than nothing.

"Hi. It's nice to see you again." He hesitated. "You…you look really pretty."

Anzu blushed, fingering her new pink jumper. "T-Thanks."

They edged awkwardly over to the café. Anzu's hand brushed against Yugi's, and he barely prevented a shiver. It stayed within his body, making his limbs tremble.

………

"All right. Yes, I know he can be difficult; if that continues, remind him what will happen if my displeasure is aroused. …No, I can't do it myself. I am in a different city, in case you didn't notice. …No, I didn't bother using it: I didn't feel there was a need. If you really think it would be better for me to use the Rod then I will; for now, however, I have other business to attend to in Tokyo. Where are you now? …Where the hell is that? These fucking towns all sound the same. …Don't you dare address me in that manner. When you know every single place in this fucking country then give me a call. Until then, don't phone me unless it actually concerns a matter of importance." Malik hung up, fuming.

Perhaps four or five metres away, a man who went by the name of Akio scuffed his grimy trainers further into the dirt. He had a large, though not particularly muscular, build; and although his appearance suggested ungainliness it was in this situation deceptive; his sausage-like fingers were as dextrous as a monkey's, and like a monkey's they could snatch the smallest objects and hide them in a pocket before the owner's eyes had even registered the movement. Limp black hair hung in oily clumps around his pockmarked face as his eyes, black and darting, looked around, scrutinising his surroundings in a glance. Slowly, greasily, his head turned in Malik's direction.

The teenager glared at his screen as if it were still a portal to somewhere else; almost ferociously, he began to jab buttons as he prepared to make another call. Then, suddenly, his fingers were pushing air.

"What the fu-give my phone back!"

"Thanks for the gift!" was Akio's parting shot as he shot across the busy road, the cars swerving and screeching but miraculously avoiding him. He made a habit of thanking his 'customers' each time he acquired something - one had to be polite.

Back on the other side, Malik simply stood there in disbelieving rage. Why that little- _no one_ stole from him and escaped unscathed. How _dare_ he?

Olive fingers curled tightly around the object in his pocket, and it began to glow.

…………

Akio was mentally congratulating himself before he tripped over a log and hit the pavement.

__

Log?

He grunted and began to get to his feet, before someone seized him by the shirt and helped him. Actually, it was more of a yank. It certainly wasn't meant to be helpful.

"That phone is not yours," said a cold voice. "Hand it over."

Mind still foggy from having his face smashed into cement, Akio said, "huh?"

The person heaved a somewhat melodramatic sigh, and began to tap their foot. "The word 'primitive' really does not do you justice. Now, for the second and last time, hand over the phone."

Akio squinted. This person was a young Japanese adult, about twenty-two, with short, closely-cropped raven hair and very black eyes. "…You aren't the person I st- I mean, it isn't yours."

Malik wasn't the sort of person who was famed for his patience. Raku pivoted a hundred degrees on his left foot and dealt Akio a perfect side-kick, leg fully extended for maximum force. The mobile flew from his grasping fingers as the man instinctively tried to break his fall. It clattered noisily through the door of a busy café, and Malik hissed, _"Khara!"_ under his breath.

………

"Two days." Yami Bakura rifled idly through his new deck with the tip of a white finger. Then, with an elegant shrug, he reached over and picked up the handset.

………

Yugi carefully wiped his lips with a dragon-patterned napkin, careful to pick up any stains. Pity to spoil the design, actually: it was quite a pretty one. But the problem with noodles was that the accompanying sauces invariably ended up all over you.

He leaned back, and a small sigh of satisfaction escaped his now clean-lips. The meal had been so wonderful. And Anzu hadn't been half-bad either. They had succeeded in making interesting conversation with virtually no awkward pauses, except for once or twice at the beginning, and that didn't really count. What was important was that Anzu liked him. Well, maybe not _liked_ him, but they were friends. And she was funny and pretty and intelligent and all the things he had ever dreamed she would be.

There was a sliding sound, and he automatically looked down. "Oh, look, Anzu-kun. Someone's dropped their mobile."

Anzu leaned over to one side to see it better. "Maybe you should pick it up. It'd be a pity if it got dirty. And it looks expensive."

"Yeah, you're right." And just as Yugi was about to bend down, the mobile began to ring.

…………

Raku's eyes were roving carefully over the room, when a sound which meant very little to him but a lot more to the person wielding his body came from underneath a table in the south corner. He tensed, nostrils flaring slightly, before letting the barest of hisses escape his lips. His eyes widened in their sockets as he took in Yugi and Anzu: he had no idea who might be calling him, but it certainly wasn't a call he wanted intercepted by the Pharaoh's vessel or his girlfriend. He had to get the mobile back, and at once.

"Excuse me-" as he strode hastily over to the boy with a three-thousand-year old secret hanging around his neck- "that's my phone."

Yugi looked up, brow creased with the faintest suggestion of suspicion. "…It is? Are you sure?" His eyes were threatening to drop down to look at the screen, at the person who was calling.

"Yes," Raku/Malik replied, deliberately putting enough conviction in the voice to make the Pharaoh's vessel look at him. _Come on, hand it over… _"I dropped it just now; it must have slid over here. May I have it back?"

"I…suppose so." With obvious reluctance, the transfer is made.

"Thank you." Brief customary smile, before he turns to leave. Yugi will never talk to this person again; and the next time the two meet it will be in a duel to the death.

He waited until he had left the café before glancing casually down at the screen. His eyes flicked across, taking in the words, 'One Missed Call: Yami no Bakura', and his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. Some sixth sense caused him to look over his shoulder, and immediately he observed a policeman strolling up the street, no doubt to investigate what Akio was doing sprawled in an untidy heap on the pavement. Nonchalantly he crossed over to a bin and wrapped the phone in a plastic bag, where he would retrieve it four minutes later in his own body. After this action was done he abandoned Raku's body, leaving the man to his dazed freedom.

Four minutes and two seconds later, no one took any notice of the dark-skinned foreigner as he strutted idly up the street, or the quick movement of his hand as he recovered his stolen possession from the rubbish container. Malik could have left things there, but curiosity begged him to steal another look at the one he had sworn to kill. Mobile now safely buried in his pocket, he sauntered recklessly up to the café. Secretly stealing glances at Yugi while pretending to examine the menu, he felt the old disbelief renew itself: how could this child possibly have the soul of a ruler of Egypt hidden within him? So obviously simple, foolish, gullible. So fucking _small._ Were these the sorts of qualities that had caused him to reconstruct the Millennium Puzzle after all those years as fragments?

He stayed outside the café for longer than he should have, troubled by these and other thoughts, feeling the certainty that had kept him going all these years beginning to waver, like the foundations of a mighty building. He barely noticed other people pushing past him; his return to reality was triggered as Yugi and Anzu walked out of the café, the former smiling and chirping gaily: "So do you want to meet up again some time?" The sound of the boy's voice caused him to stiffen and glance furtively round. Yugi, now joyful from his conversations at Anzu, had a visible spring in his step. His eyes met Malik's for a millisecond and he suddenly smiled. _I know you, _that gaze whispered. Taken off guard, Malik stared back. The he tore their gazes apart, feeling oddly shaken, but Yami had already walked on.

…………

__

"You could have killed him!"

"Well I didn't. Deal with it," Malik managed to snap in the nanosecond when the Ring-spirit had paused for breath. After he and Yugi had gone in their opposite directions, Malik had rung the spirit and relayed to him the events of the afternoon. After a brief period of hysterical laughing when he found out Yugi and Anzu had gone out together, an irate Yami Bakura had given his uncensored opinion on the Egyptian's inconceivable stupidity at coming face-to-face with the Pharaoh's vessel and doing nothing. Malik, who was, for no reason he could explain, still haunted by the way the Pharaoh had looked at him, didn't so much as reply to any of the insults. Yami Bakura was seething at the wasted opportunity, and didn't hold back in telling him so.

Dully: "I've already told you: I did not go there with the intention of killing him. Besides, it was a public area. I couldn't do anything."

"Yet you managed to beat someone up with no one intervening?" the spirit shot back.

"I did that through another person's body."

"Fine, whatever. You are completely unbelievable."

Anger finally flaring up, and stung at the remark, Malik snarled, "So the fact that you called me at the worst time imaginable, causing me to be more concerned with getting my phone back before the Pharaoh's vessel saw who was calling rather than killing him, means nothing?"

Yami Bakura sneered at this. "And I am meant to know exactly when to call you?"

"Laa…" (Arabic: No)

"Exactly. I think I am justified in saying that you acted like a complete fool."

__

"Shut the fuck up!" the Egyptian screamed in Arabic.

"Stop that childish shouting. It will solve nothing." Despite his glacial tone, Yami Bakura was nearly paralysed in fury.

"Stupid…bastard…" Malik's Japanese was starting to suffer in his anger, his accent becoming more and more prominent, and the soft sniggering he could hear in the background was not helping.

Yami Bakura stared at the buttons on the phone, trying to calm or at least contain his rage. It was difficult to say who would lose it first, although the way the connection was starting to break up because Malik was squeezing his mobile so hard was quite suggestive.

After a few moments of terse silence it was the spirit of the Millennium Ring who spoke first, his voice soft and even. "This is not achieving anything."

"Agreed." Malik's voice was shaking.

"I propose that we meet again in a few days, to discuss our plans face-to-face."

"That sounds reasonable."

"Thursday? I will bring my deck, if you think it a good idea."

The Egyptian's mind raced to his own deck, and the thought of his two God Cards soothed him slightly. "Very well."

The conversation was drawing to an end. After stating the location of their next meeting, Yami Bakura slammed the phone down, missing the place where it was meant to go by several inches. After a confused second the phone started beeping; he snatched it up and thrust it back into place with the movement of someone grinding dirt into the ground with their shoe.

After a moment spent in almost catatonic silence, the spirit got up slowly and walked over to the drawer, fists clenched into little balls of fury. He yanked the drawer open so hard it nearly fell out, grabbed the knife taken from the Pharaoh several days previously, and slammed the drawer shut with a force that caused its contents to jump up in the air. His eyes were turned the darkish red-brown of clotting blood.

He sat heavily back down, knife held carelessly in his right hand. It felt good to clench his fingers around its solid handle, and he watched as his knuckles turned milky-white as the blood drained away. He released his hold, revelling in the control he had over his light's body. Then, suddenly, all his rage came flooding back and he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and started slashing blindly at his wrist and lower arm. The pain came at once, searing fire under his skin, but he kept going and going and going, channelling his hatred into the knife and thinking how much he hated Malik and the Pharaoh and every other person in the fucking world.

The frenzy only stopped when the sensation of his swollen wrist began to override the previous almost pleasing sensations of pain; this was a dull ache. He wanted his pain bright and clear and in long straight lines all over his skin. Then he looked at his arm and felt a peculiar disappointment at how absurdly shallow the wounds were, mere scratches, and how little blood there was. He raked his fingernails along the trenches already carved into his skin, but it was the wrong sort of hurt and he stopped.

There was a little blood glistening near the underside of his wrist. He stared at it, fascinated at what had appeared; then, in a sudden moment of daring, raised his arm and licked it away with his tongue. The resulting taste was queer, and he couldn't make up his mind whether it was sweet or salty; perhaps some potent mixture of the two. He felt suddenly thrilled at what he had done, could feel adrenaline pounding in the sticky web of arteries and veins.

He gazed at the bloody knife. So slowly, he brought it up level with his mouth. There was life on that blade, essence of that spark which kept everything going, and he wanted it.

His tongue wrapped around the knife. Curling in close.

His left arm, resting against the arm of the chair, brushed against the abrasive surface. A scab collapsed inwards, and slowly the blood began to trickle down.

…………

A/N: Et voila. That's satisfied most of my writing urge; I still think I might work on another half-finished one-shot before I go to bed, however.

The last few paragraphs are based on my own experiences with self-harm (minus the consuming of blood).

I think that this story is going to end up with around 6 to 8 chapters in all, depending on how much I decide to include in each chapter. I've actually got an ending planned for this story now, which is pleasing. The next chapter may involve some events from the animated series which I decided to change to suit the story, because there were plenty of scenes in the anime which I felt could have been expanded further than they were.

Reviews are always welcome as an esteem-booster. I can get really low if I don't get reviews to my writing, after spending so much time on them. That isn't meant as something to get people to review; it's just the truth. I spend a lot of time on my writing. Usually I write in bursts of one to three hours, managing about six to eight hundred words an hour.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I would write individual thanks, but my Internet connection is about as iffy as you can get and so I just want to get this posted up as quickly as possible.


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